I Couldn't Watch You Die
by DesireSpark
Summary: Peeta is not the boy with the bread. Katniss is the baker, and Peeta and Gale are the best friends who fight for their lives every day trying to provide for their families, as they've lost family to mine explosions. Who will go into the Games this year, and will the odds be in their favor?
1. We Could Do it, You Know

I awake to the sound of wild dogs in the distance calling to each other. It's still dark, but I can sense an imminent sunrise. Sleeping soundly in the bed next to mine are my mother and father, cuddled closely together to ward off the cold. The house is silent aside from their hushed breathing, as my two brothers were killed in the same mine explosion and no longer occupy the emptiness the rest of my bed has become.

I rise slowly from my mattress and carefully step across the creaky wood floor, winding through an invisible pathway I have memorized after years of walking across the same floor of this one room house. I silently take my hunting jacket and game bag from the hook by the door, then decide to grab a small hunk of cheese to share between myself and Gale. Clicking the door closed, I jog my daily route to the forest where I can escape to a realm of inconspicuousness. The woods is the only place that I feel peace, because in District 12 there is a constant feeling of angst and consternation as a result of mutual suffering and starvation among people in the Seam.

Gale and I share that suffering, which is the reason we retreat to the woods as often as we can; when my brothers and his father were killed by lethal explosions in the coal mines where they worked, we both took on the responsibility of providing for our families. He, being two years my senior, had already begun to practice hunting with his father in the woods while I was still being taken care of by my older brothers. When they died, I trekked to the forest, intent on teaching myself to hunt like them to feed my family and avenge their untimely and early deaths.

It was a rainy, misty morning when I brought my brother's bow and arrows into the woods to teach myself to use them. I'd only seen them used a handful of times, so I lacked the know-how, but I was convinced that I could teach myself the art of hunting so my parents wouldn't starve. I'm sure my father could have worked in the mines and hunted for us if he wasn't blind. My mother has always been charmed by his tendency to remark on her beauty that we all know is beyond his recognition, but he continues to insist upon her radiance, even though he cannot see it.

As I crawl under the fence that marks the edge of our district territory, I fear I will never be able to provide for my family like my brothers once did, but I'm confident that my desire to give to my parents what I've always been given by my brothers will fuel the strength I need to be my parents' keeper.

I slip into the woods and carefully step around crinkly leaves and dead branches, because I know I'll disturb some kind of peace that animals can sense. After walking for what seems like miles, a large deer steps into view about 100 yards away. I try to stealthily pull out an arrow and thread it, then clumsily pull the arrow back, envisioning my arrow piercing through the moist air and straight into the beast's heart. I cannot afford to miss this shot, and my heart sinks about ten feet into the ground when I realize I've released my arrow and its tip shoots straight into a tree yards away from my intended target. I assume the buck will run for it, and I'll never get to bring home the venison that will feed my family for at least a week, but for some reason the deer falls to the ground, an arrow going precisely through its heart.

My own heart skips a beat, knowing my arrow lodged in a tree and I could not have killed that animal. I whip around, looking for the Peacekeeper that I know will be ready to slit my throat, when I hear the voice of another teenage boy.

"What were you going to do with that?" I hear him shout, but I still cannot place who it belongs to. I'm not sure if he's being funny or if his remark is serious, so I answer sincerely.

"I've never hunted before. I was just trying to ... to kill it. To feed my family. My brothers used to hunt in here, but they..." I can't seem to say it out loud. I can't find the words to explain what happened to them.

The boy comes out of hiding for the first time. I think I've seen him before, but I can't put a name to his face. He says, "I know what happened. Same with my father a few years ago. That's why I'm here too." Suddenly I realize why he's so familiar. His father was killed too, while mining, and I watched as he received a medal for the same event I would later experience twice over in just two years. I'm not sure what to say, because a simple sorry can't cover the grief that I felt when my brothers were killed, and he probably knows that I already understand that same pain. "You want to learn how to use that thing or am I going to have to shadow you forever killing the animals you can't shoot yourself?"

I look down sheepishly at my bow, realizing how ridiculous it looks in my small hands, and then up at his muscled body that contrasts my small figure. I hand over my weapons so he can teach me how to become a provider.

Now, as I'm reaching the District 12 boundary, I listen for the distinct but rarely present buzzing of electricity in the fence that I've learned after years to avoid. The Capitol insists the fence is to protect us from beasts that live beyond it, but I've never seen some of the creatures they describe to us in classes, and I've been in the woods almost every day since I was 12, so I know it's all lies. They don't even keep the fence on for most of the day, which allows Gale and me to hunt illegally without risking our demises by electrocution. I pull the fence up from the bottom and crawl under, looking over my shoulder for Peacekeepers that I know aren't there. Even if I got caught, I wouldn't be punished; some of my best customers are the very Peacekeepers provided to us for the job of enforcing the Capitol's laws.

The first time my brothers brought me to sell meat to a Peacekeeper, I was thoroughly frightened. All I remember is staring wide-eyed at their gleaming white, intimidating uniforms and wondering what would happen if all of a sudden they started actually enforcing the laws that banned going outside the District boundaries. A shiver runs up my spine at the thought. Both Gale and I would be tortured or beaten or killed in public as examples to the people. Suddenly, my thoughts are interrupted by the very person who inhabited them moments ago.

"Happy Hunger Games, Peeta! And may the odds be ever in your favor!" Gale trills in an attempt at mimicking the ridiculous and infamous Effie Trinket. She's been the announcer for our reapings since before I can remember, and although harmless, District 12 loathes her for her blatant disregard of the animosity and cruelty of the Hunger Games. Twenty-three kids die in a duel to the death each year, and only one tribute lives and must continue their life knowing that some of those mere children died at their hands. Effie's ignorance of the sadistic annual even might be bearable if she wasn't such a materialistic and wasteful human being. She comes to District 12 each year to sentence two kids to their certain death, but her powdery makeup, heinous wig, and iridescent clothing make her appear to be some grotesque creature. Her life is spent dawdling over material items, while my every breath is spent keeping my family alive. That, and trying to come up with a way to get Katniss to like me.

Katniss Everdeen. She is gorgeous. Her family runs the bakery in town, so she hasn't lived the same life I have of constant uncertainty of my next meal. I should despise her for that, but I can't help loving the way she always smells of fresh breads and cakes I'll never be able to afford, how I find her mindlessly singing in her beautifully mellifluous voice when I come to trade meat for bread, and the perfect braid she wears her hair in every day with a different flower pinned to the side of her head just behind her right ear. She's from the Town, though, and girls like that do not fall for boys from the Seam.

"Peeta, you there?" Gale sharply interrupts my rumination of Katniss. "I mean, it's fine to be nervous about the Reaping, but don't tune out on me. You've got the snare run today. Both our families with go hungry if you don't snap out of it."

"Sorry, I was just thinking about," Katniss, I think. "I was thinking about Effie. And everyone in the Capitol. I just wish there was a way that I could... that I could show them we're more than a piece in their Games. They all believe that the Hunger Games are a freaking joke. They don't get that those tributes in the arena... they're people, too. With families." Silently I add that after that I was thinking about Katniss, too. But Gale already knows how much I love her, so he might already suspect she was on my mind.

"Yeah, and how would you go about that? You can't exactly march up to his Majesty Coriolanus Snow and demand justice. The Capitol... they're not people you want to mess with, Peeta." he replies.

"But we could try. Stage a rebellion. Get all the districts together somehow. I'd show the Capitol we're not just their slaves." Truly, the people in the districts are the Capitol slaves. Each region has its own business - 3 is technology, 4 is fishing, 10 is lumber, 11 is agriculture. Here in 12, we mine coal. Panem districts provide the products that fuel our oppressive government.

"A rebellion? Right. You wouldn't make it five days without the Capitol shutting everyone down," he says, making a mockery of my plan. That infuriates me - it's people of that mindset that would make the rebellion fail. If everyone in Panem bonded together, it'd be a success. But one weak link and everything would fall apart.

"Oh, I'd go five days. I'd go that way," I point west in the direction of the other districts. "Right after the Hunger Games end this year, I'll get a band of strong rebels together, and we'll all head out to tell the other districts. We'd get to 11 first, and they'd spread it to 9 and 10, and word would spread about Panem. Everyone would be inspired to revolt." I get on my feet so I can go start the snare run, collecting each kill from the snares and resetting them.

Gale lets out a laugh as he replies, "With all those Peacekeepers nobody would be convinced. It's not like here, where they encourage illegal stuff. There's no way you'd get everyone on your side."

As I trot away to begin collecting from snares, I murmur, "We could do it, you know."

A few hours of hunting earns us four squirrels, two rabbits, and buckets full of wild berries and vegetables. Usually Gale and I bring all the strawberries we can find to Madge Undersee, the Mayor's daughter. I find her to be an incredible annoyance, as she always parades around in her perfect little dresses and fingernails painted to match. She always has her hair done up perfectly with a silky bow that makes me sick. She has enough money to swim in while everyone in the Seam lives in squalor, and she has the nerve to flaunt her high status with neatly ironed dresses and frilly hairpieces. Boys fawn over her, although she cannot compare to Katniss' uncommon beauty.

We arrive at the Mayor's door and immediately the beautiful music emanating from within the estate ceases. Madge appears at the door wearing yet another brand new dress. It's a white lace frock that cinches at the smallest part of her waist with a slender brown braided belt. A golden ribbon adorns her blonde curls, and a small golden pin peaks over the curve of her breast. If I wasn't as smart as I am, I'd say she looked attractive.

"Hello, Gale. Peeta," she chirps politely. "Do you have some strawberries for me to buy?"

"No. We came here into Town all the way from the Seam just to say hello to the lovely Margaret Undersee," I reply, my voice dripping heavily with sarcasm. Gale shoots me a look of consternation; even though he feels the same way about stuck-up Townies, he is eternally polite.

"Sorry about him, he must have stuck his foot in his mouth by accident when we were eating a few of those berries," he remarks smartly. I begin to protest, but his reference to the berries reminds her of what we're here for.

"Oh, right. The strawberries. I'll go get some money. Would you like to come in a moment?" she inquires.

"No, thank you. We'll just wait out here," Gale replies. She smiles sweetly and returns quickly with more than twice the money she owes us, handing it to Gale. I can't stand her openly pitying us, so I speak up.

"You know that's way too much money, Madge. Take half that back and return to your life of abundance." She appears highly reluctant, and I think I catch a spark of longing in her bright blue eyes. She's squirming to find the words that will convince me to take the full sum she offered without offending us.

"Please take it. I have no use for all the luxuries my father bestows upon me. At least let me reward the people who never stop working to protect a life I'll never understand," she pleads, stepping forward to collect the berries. Sensing a hidden pain, I allow this unwarranted overpayment. I curtly nod my head and mumble a thank you, turning to leave.

"And Peeta…" she calls out. "Good luck today. Same to your brothers, Gale."

"Good luck, Margaret," I wave unsure of the reason I used her full name, and Gale and I walk back to the Seam to prepare ourselves for the Reaping to take place today. In a few short hours, my fate could be decided by a slip of paper in a glass bowl.


	2. The Reaping

As I'm about to cross the threshold of my house, a familiar melodious voice floods my ears. My father is singing a soft ballad to my mother, whose anxiety is at its peak today, the day her only remaining son could be thrown into the Hunger Games and have only a 1 in 24 chance of survival. I can't imagine what would become of her sorry life if I got reaped; when my brothers died she entered a state of depression that she never quite pulled herself out of. Sometimes she goes months without speaking, weeks without emerging from the warmth of her bed, days without eating. I caught onto these habits quickly after my brothers died, because it meant neither of my parents was capable of providing for me, and the food supply in the pantry dwindled rapidly with each passing day. That's when I ventured into the forest, swearing to myself that I wouldn't be like my weak mother, who gave into the pain of losing two sons, thereby condemning the life of a third.

I know that if I a reaped, Gale will on take on the responsibility of feeding my family as well. Gale is 19 so there's no way he'd go into the Game anymore. I, however, being 17, have two years left to anxiously await two words that will sentence me to probable death: Peeta Mellark.

I linger at the door a moment longer to delay the sight of my parents' downcast faces watching my every move as if it's the last glimpse they'll have of me alive and they're trying to make sure they've memorized each facet of my face, every crease in my calloused hands, the exact color of my sloppily cut blonde hair. I fill our bathtub with cold water pumped from the well and wash off dirt collected from hunting this morning. When I'm clean and dry, I dress in my best clothes reserved for reapings: hand-me-downs my brothers used to wear before they were employed at the mines at 18.

As soon as I'm clean and dressed, my parents join me as we trudge to the Square, hoping with each fiber of our being that I'm not picked. When we arrive, we separate into spectators and children in the drawing to be reaped.

I stand in the Square, silent except for my shallow breathing. I can't see Gale; he's probably with his mother, Hazelle, in the sector for strictly commentators. I join the 16-year-old boys to await the doom of two District 12 children.

Suddenly, thoughts flood my mind that I've been fighting to banish from my head. What if she gets picked? I wonder. What if I get picked? I would lose the sanctuary of the woods, and my parents whom I've fought so hard to protect. I would lose Gale, the one person in my life who knows who I am better than I know myself. The boy in the woods who saved my life years ago, whom I owe and incomprehensible debt to. Stop, Peeta, I think. If I'm going to be picked, I will have to let go of the life I know and focus everything on surviving. Which isn't really different from my life now. But it is. It's different.

We all stand awkwardly, clumped together, avoiding conversation because the kid you were making small talk with might be the same kid who death you witness on live television. Suddenly, a streak of bright pink bobbles up the steps and appears in front of the microphone, giving it a short tap to test. Effie Trinket.

"Welcome to District 12 Reaping for the 74th annual Hunger Games!" she announces proudly in her stupid Capitol accent. The large screen behind her beams with life as the film we have to watch plays. It's the same every year, the Treaty of Treason, that one male and one female age 12-18 from each of the 12 districts becomes tribute for the so-called "honor" of representing their district in a battle of innocent children until one lone victor remains.

When President Snow's recording ends Effie proceeds to the bowl holding the boys' slips. I turn around to notice everyone else looking as confused as I am. Effie always reads the girl tribute name first. Either she's purposefully changing it tis year, or she simply forgot which bowl hold which names. I wouldn't put it past her, even though she's been doing this since before I began to watch the reapings. She's a bit of an airhead. Slowly her hand dips into the bowl as she carefully selects a single slip to read. She saunters back to the microphone, peeling back the slick black tape and reads the name.

"Rory Hawthorne."

The name makes me flinch. This is Gale's brother's first Reaping. He's 11. His name was in that bowl one time in thousands of other District 12 names. And the worst part is, there is nothing Rory can do about it. There is nothing Gale can do about it. My best friend's brother will die in the Hunger Games, and he cannot volunteer for him; he's 19. Rory is one of the people whom Gale loves most in the world, and now he'll be sent to the Capitol where Gale will watch his death.

I feel as if I'm watching the Square from somewhere else, because what's happening is too unreal. Rory steps onto the stage next to Effie and she congratulates him. Then he asks for volunteers.

My resolve is strong as I step out of the line I'm in, the other 16 year old boys staring at me, wide eyed. I catch Gale's glance as he watches me, tears filling his eyes. "I volunteer as tribute," I declare firmly. Rory's downcast face shoots up, grateful for my sacrifice. He scrambles down the stairs and runs to me before the Peacekeepers can escort him off the platform, and envelops me in a powerful embrace.

His eyes fill with water as he looks up to my face. He appears to have aged a decade since being called to that stage. "Peeta...thank you. You...you saved my life," he stutters, unable to articulate everything he wants to say. I nod at him and stride to the stage, the shocked faces of District 12 citizens staring up at me. I try not to let my emotions reflect in my behavior as I take my place next to Effie. She curtly apologizes for mixing up the order of the genders, then acts as if this is the first time she has noticed I've come to join her on the stage. She acknowledges me with intrigue, and tilts to microphone slightly toward me. "Now what is your name, sweetheart?" she inquires.

I turn my head slightly, glancing at her sideways as she tips the microphone in front of me. "Peeta Mellark," I enunciate, holding in wails I want to let out. My thoughts from earlier this morning ring true; although Effie did not say my name, the two words I just spoke have become my probable death sentence.

"And how are you related to Mr. Hawthorne, Peeta?"

I think hard, racking my brain to come up with the best answer for what I want to verbalize. I want to say that Rory means the world to my best friend who saved my life years ago. I want to say that I didn't want to watch as the Capitol claimed another child victim of its sadistic Games. I want to say that I could not lose my integrity by allowing the slaughter of this innocent boy who means almost as much to me as he does to Gale. Instead I turn everything I'm thinking into a simple sentiment to Rory and Gale, as well as a direct insult to the Capitol. "Ms. Trinket," I begin, "Rory Hawthorne is like a brother to me, and I wasn't going to watch him suffer on live television as the Capitol wishes."

The shock resonates in her face, and as I glance over the faces of the people in the crowd. Everyone is astonished at the ultimate sacrifice I have made for Rory. Suddenly I catch the glance of Madge Undersee, who appears to be seeing me for the first time. Her bright blue eyes shine, reflecting more light than the sun has to offer. A rogue tear falls down her perfect cheek, but she does not wipe the streak from her face. In her eyes I see all the hurt I have inflicted in her leave as she finally realizes why I have hated her for so long. Not wanting to forget this exchange, I slowly nod my head once, accepting the newly revealed reasoning for my apparent hatred. I glance back to Effie, who bounces over to the girls' bowl of names. Her high heels must be at least 8 inches high.

My thoughts all of a sudden crash onto Katniss. If she gets picked now, I'll be put in the arena, pitted against her. I couldn't hurt her. I couldn't hurt anyone, really. That's what the Capitol wants, but in this year's Hunger Games, Snow won't get that out of me. It's not right to do this to 24 kids every single year. 24 innocent kids. They're turned into killers all for the enjoyment of thousands of Capitol citizens. I will not concede with the killing that is forced unto us all.

Before I know it, Effie has a single slip of paper in her hands, her long, embellished fingernails that must be altered curling around the edges. I peek at the name written on the paper, and relief courses through me, because I know that Katniss' name is not written on the slip. That is, until I realize whose name is written there.

"Primrose Everdeen!"

My eyes flutter closed as I beg silently for this to be a dream. Rory did not get reaped. I did not have to volunteer. Gentle, sweet Prim did not get picked. But it all happened. And now I know what's going to happen next.

"Prim!" Katniss screams. "Prim!" I watch intently as Katniss swiftly sweeps Prim behind her, challenging the Peacekeepers to pry her sister from her. "Snow will not take my baby sister from me," she mumbles just audibly enough for me to hear. "I volunteer as tribute!" Her wails fill the Square, and the Peacekeepers turn their attention to dragging Katniss onstage as she squirms to come of her own accord. "Get off me!" she shrieks as they thrust her towards Effie and I. She trips, tumbling into me. I lunge for her to keep her from falling and grab at her hips, steadying her. I hold Katniss there a moment longer to whisper, "That was the bravest thing I have ever seen." Her dark grey eyes search mine for the sincerity I have placed behind my words. Her lower lip drops slightly as if she was about to say something, but instead she averts her gaze to Effie, who motions for her to come up to the other side of the microphone. Katniss looks at me again and slowly makes her way over.

"What's your name, darling?" she asks.

Katniss pauses a moment to stare over the crowd that expectantly awaits her reply. She inhales deeply as if preparing for the most nerve wracking moment of her life and utters, "Katniss Everdeen."

"So that must be your sister then, right?" Effie dumbly chirps.

"Yes," she replies softly but firmly.

"Well this will be an interesting year for the Hunger Games, to say the least!" Effie squeals. "Shake hands, you two."

I turn my focus to Katniss, whose eyes register worry, fear, and something else I cannot place. The expression on her face reminds of the way someone might look at a person they've known closely for a long time, but she reveals no reason for this knowing look. Her eyes drop to my outstretched hand and she offers her own warm hand to shake it. Energy surges trough me as I realize I am holding Katniss Everdeen's hand, so I squeeze it a bit – half to reassure her and half to make sure what's happening is real.

"Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!" Effie's voice slowly fades as Peacekeepers jostle us into our separate rooms in the Justice Building. I'm taken by surprise when I glance at Katniss before she's thrown into her room to find her eyes trained on me. For a moment I wonder what she's thinking while our eyes meet, but heavy doors slam before each of our faces and our eye contact is severed.

Only moments after I sit on a ruby red plush couch to stare at a heinous portrait of President Snow that sits atop a dusty mantle, Gale bursts into the room.

"Three minutes," a deep voice warns. Gale nods and slowly approaches me.

"I have no words," he begins, "to explain to you how grateful I am. What you did… you're giving your life for him," he says.

"Hey, don't get ahead of yourself. I'm not dead yet," I try to insert humor into this heavily emotional exchange.

"I know. And you won't die. You're strong, and fast, and you can hunt. Sometimes I think you're a stronger person than me," he remarks. My downward gaze shifts to meet his eyes, and I see in them pure sincerity. Could he be right? I always thought Gale would fair better in these Games than me, but his comment gives me more hope; certainly if Gale believes me to be stronger than himself, I have a greater chance of winning than I previously thought.

Suddenly I realize this might be the last time I see Gale, so regardless of my discomfort with emotional conversations, I tell him, "The only reason I am as strong as I am is because of you. You helped me that day in the woods. You taught me to hunt. You taught me to provide. It was you, Gale, the one who kept me alive. I volunteered for Rory because I needed to do the same for you. I knew that if you had to watch Rory on that television, you'd be nothing but a shell of yourself. I couldn't watch you die." A Peacekeeper quickly opens the door and requests Gale's departure, but I know I must finish this. "Take care of my parents, Gale. I love you like I loved my own brothers." We both stand and look at each other for a moment to burn our best friend into our memories. I take him into a strong embrace and upon release he nods his head slightly, a gesture to both accept and return my sentiments.

"Goodbye, Gale," I choke out over tears I fight to contain behind the thresholds of my eyes.

"Goodbye, Peeta."

The Peacekeeper hurriedly drags him away, sealing both the door and the last memory of my best friend. I slink over to the couch, drained from being stripped of the person who means the world to me. The door clicks open again and a new Peacekeeper issues the same warning. I look up form the dingy carpet to see Rory and Hazelle at the door. I catch his glance and he falls to the couch in tears.

"Peeta!" he wails. "Peeta, you could die in there and it's all because of me!" His face is buried in a pillow, his screams escaping its soft plush cushion. Hazelle watches, knowing it is not her place to interject, and nods to me in encouragement.

"Shhh," I try to comfort him, placing a hand on his back. "This is not your fault. You did not do this; the Capitol did. I wouldn't change what I did if given the chance. So you need to be strong for me, and for your siblings, and for your mother." I look to Hazelle at her mention, and she smiles sadly in approval. "You owe me at least that much, right?" I wink at him as he slowly lifts his face from the pillow.

"Okay," he concedes, sniffing lightly. I stand him up, straighten out his now wrinkled shirt, and give him a hug. "Thank you for going in the Games for me, Peeta. I don't want to die."

"Goodbye, Rory.

"Goodbye, Peeta."

He slowly saunters out, leaving Hazelle at the door. I turn to see her on the verge of tears as well, but I know that she will not cry in my presence so my strength does not falter. Instead of beginning a long thank you, she uses her dwindling time to simply say, "Thank you for what you have done for my children. You are truly a remarkable young man." She reaches up to hold my face in her hands and gently kisses my forehead, uttering a quick goodbye because she knows she will begin to weep soon. She exits the room and the door closes behind her.

I walk over to the window, expecting only my parents to come visit before I am carted off to the Capitol. When the door opens and the Peacekeeper warns of the time limit a third time, I expect to hear my mother's soft sobs and the comforting voice of my father. Instead I hear silence. Is anybody even here besides me? I think to myself. I whip around to see a petite girl in a white dress with blonde curls surrounding her delicate face.

"Margaret," I murmur.

Embarrassed at the mention of her full name, her cheeks flame bright pink. "Hi Peeta. I guess you're wondering what I'm doing here. And I know I am probably the last one you want to see–"

"No," I cut her off, my voice soft and delicate as a newborn chick's fluffy feathers. "I'm glad you came." My own words shock me; isn't this the very girl who embodies everything I hate about the Capitol, whose frivolous dresses and fancy accessories mock my endless struggle to provide for my family regardless of my lack of money? My remark catches her off-guard, but she regains composure and continues.

"I just wanted to tell you that… after today… and everything that… happened," she stumbles. "I just wanted to say that I understand why you've hated me for so long." My eyes flick up to hers, surprised by her straightforwardness.

"I don't hate you," I try to protest, but she stops me.

"Look, whether you do or don't, it doesn't matter, but just know that I'm not who you think I am." I raise my eyebrows at her lace dress and golden ribbon. She stands, ripping the ribbon out and running her fingers through her hair, clearly frustrated with only herself. "God, I am such an idiot. I parade around the district with these dumb dresses and freaking ribbons, but no matter what I do, everyone hates me because I get everything handed to me on a silver fucking platter. I have nobody."

I am visibly shocked at everything she's just said. Who knew the Mayor's daughter hated life so much? I quickly respond to her pain though, a feeling I am all too familiar with. "Hey," I coo, sliding my fingers over her soft, pink hand. "You don't have nobody. You have me. Some things I say… it's just because I put blame on you for what Snow puts us through. But it's not your fault, Madge. I don't have to keep hating you, we're friends now, right? I mean, why else did you come here?" I lean my face in to search her eyes for something, I'm not sure what. I stare into her bright blue orbs, mystified by her beauty. There's something she's holding back, I'm sure of it.

"Please come home, Peeta Mellark. It has to be you or Katniss. Be strong."

"Thank you," I whisper. After a pleasant moment of silence, I discover what I saw in her eyes that she was withholding. She reaches over to behind my neck and sweetly kisses me right on the lips. I'm not sure why she does, but I know that I like it. Her soft lips press against mine, and I softly pull her bottom lip between  
mine, gently caressing her face with my thumb. I brush a few strands of hair off of her cheek and revel in the moment of having her this close, the smell of her perfume wafting in the air. Ever so gently and slowly, she pulls her face away just a few inches, my hands still gently cupping her face. I open my eyes, not fully sure of when I closed them, to see her eyelids still half closed. They flick up all of a sudden, and her bright blue eyes stare dreamily into mine. Then without a word, she pulls herself up off the couch and exits the room.

I am thoroughly encapsulated by that kiss. I just kissed Madge Undersee, the girl I have hated for years, who bought my strawberries, who I'd never actually had a pleasant conversation with. I am only roused from my fantasy of kissing her again when a Peacekeeper comes into the room, alone, to escort me into a car so we can board a train for the Capitol.

My parents did not visit me.


	3. Manners

My parents did not come to visit me. I am going into the Hunger Games where I will suffer for days on end and face death at 17 years old, most likely, and my parents did not care enough to see me one last time. What even could be so demanding that my mother and father could not pay a last visit to their only living son prior to his impending death? Instead of dwelling on this, however, I decide to push it aside so I don't make a fool of myself in public and in front of Katniss. If I cried in front of all those cameras, the other tributes would see me as an easy target. I don't need to add that to the list of weaknesses I am plagued by. I put on a mask that reveals none of my emotions and step into the car, where I meet Katniss' icy stare with a blank expression and turn to the window, tuning out while Effie blabbers on about the innumerable luxuries of the Capitol.

"We get it, Effie," I spit out. "Your town is awesome and ours is poor. Like we didn't already know." I'm being a bit harsh but how can I not be? This woman knows at least one of us will die in the Hunger Games – both of us if this year follows the trend of previous Games – and she is just yapping about food and clothes and parties and hotels.

"I beg your pardon? Such a rude, corrupted young boy. So sad you haven't been exposed to the rigorous manners course all Capitol children are subjected to," she explains.

"How dare you!" I scream, infuriated by her pitying me for no reason at all and her relating it to where I'm from. "Don't you dare talk to me like that! How can you expect me to be well mannered when I'm in the presence of a blithering idiot who can't seem to grasp the concept of death?"

"Peeta," Katniss tries to interject to soothe me. I am momentarily dazed by her interruption, but regain focus on the situation because of my bubbling anger.

"No, Katniss. Don't you get it? All these people enjoy watching us die, and Effie's no different. One or both of us is going to die in these Games and all the Capitol people laugh at it. They love it. They enjoy it. And all they care about is all these material items. How long did you spend in the bathroom this morning to make yourself look so fucking ridiculous, Effie?" The woman's jaw drops, her mouth round. The shocked expression on her white powdered face is priceless and somewhat rewarding, but I am not done yet. "You think you have it so great in the Capitol. I'm sure it's fucking awesome to live in abundance but never have any empathy or true character. You are –"

"Peeta," Katniss says again, more sternly. "You need to stop right now."

"Katniss, you realize that this woman is blabbering on about stylists and clothes and makeup and parties she wishes we could attend while we sit here awaiting our doom? Don't you see how messed up it is that we could be killed in these Games and she doesn't even see that? That I could lose you to –" I stop midsentence, realizing what is implied by what I just said. She is taken aback, her face solely registering shock. "Forget it," I mumble, unbuckling my seat belt. The car has been parked at the station for a good two minutes, but I've been sitting here screaming at Effie, so none of us got out of the car. Thrusting the car door open, I walk briskly to the train to board. I do not look back when Effie yells, "Manners!" I do not even look back when Katniss screams my name. I get on the train and go straight to the room that an attendant says is mine so I can clear my head and take a nap. I'm asleep before the train leaves the station.

I am jolted awake as Katniss shakes me into consciousness only minutes after I fell asleep. I mumble incomprehensibly until she smacks me across the face, screaming my name. She is above me, straddling my stomach, trying to make me wake up. I quickly push myself up against the bed frame, but she pushes herself up closer to me and grabs me by the shirt collar. Frankly, I'm shocked by what's going on, but mostly I'm reveling in being so close to her. Which is, of course, ridiculous, because this girl looks like she wants to kill me. My jaw drops slightly and I furrow my brows, waiting to hear what she has to say.

"What the hell was that?" she screams at me. She has a right, what I did might be a severe detriment to us both; Effie could talk about this, and she probably will, knowing how much she loves to talk, evidenced by the hour-long car ride in which she never stopped talking. Word could get around to the people who have the ability to make the Games very difficult for us. The Gamemakers.

"Look, Katniss, I'm sorry," I apologize, my voice soft. "I don't know what came over me. I'm usually not like that. Actually, I've never yelled at somebody like that. I just couldn't contain myself. I'm sorry if it hurts you in the Games."

The apology hasn't appeased her yet. She's still livid after what I did just ten minutes ago. "I don't even think you get it yet," she says, pushing me harder into the bed frame. I try to compensate by pushing myself up a bit, but she shoves me back down. Her voice drops in volume as she says, "Effie has connections. You clearly know that people like her don't care about our lives, so if she doesn't like us and she has the ability to make our lives a living hell," Katniss pauses then barely breathes, "what makes you think she won't?" She searches my eyes to find some semblance of an answer, but all I have to supply is a weak apology.

"I know, I know. I screwed up. I'll tell her I'm sorry. And that if she's going to talk about it with… you know, Gamemakers, that she shouldn't say anything about you. I don't want my blowup to affect you," I tell her. Truly, I don't; I never wanted for any of this to change how she will fair in the Games. I'd practically kill myself if I found out I was the reason she was targeted by Gamemakers for something that I did.

Momentarily, an indistinguishable expression washes over her, and I realize it's the same one I couldn't describe when we were both on stage during the reaping. I want to ask her what is on her mind, but she just releases her death grip on my shirt, hops off the bed and walks towards the door. Halfway there, she looks back at me as if she wanted to say something, so I raise my face expectantly, but I guess she thinks better of it because she turns backs and wordlessly exits.

Haymitch comes in a few moments later, before I'm going to undress to shower. He appears a little buzzed, but he's always drunk so that doesn't come as a surprise. "Dinner's in fifteen minutes," he says, not slurring his words yet. I nod to him and he leaves, sloshing a canteen of what I can only guess is liquor.

The fifteen minutes leaves me enough time to shower and redress, so I strip off my white collared shirt and navy slacks that still have traces of coal dust on them from District 12. I finger the dust for a few moments, realizing it's really the only thing I have left of my home. I take what I can gather off of the fabric, which is just a pinch, and sprinkle it on the bedside table, knowing I'll want to look at it later on to remind me of my home. I walk into the bathroom and step into the shower. A machine voice that leaves me with an eerie lack of privacy automatically asks me to select options for the shower on a panel of buttons: the pressure and temperature of the water, the scents of my shampoo and soap, even the amount of steam I want it to generate. Back at home, I would have simply filled our wooden tub with cool water from the pump and used goat soap to clean dirt from my skin and hair. I didn't know soap could have such an overtly large variety of smells. That's the Capitol, I guess.

As soon as I'm clean and dry, I don a black t-shirt and dark jeans then stride to the dining room where Effie and Haymitch are waiting, arguing back and forth over the lack of ice at the open bar. I clear my throat to get their attention, and Katniss walks in behind me. She looks beautiful with a dark olive green shirt and silky black pants that seem to hug each curve of her perfect body. Her hair is not in the braided bun she wore earlier for the reaping, but instead flows in dark brown waves down her back and across her shoulders, gleaming with the light in the chandelier.

"You going to sit, boy, or stare at Katniss all evening?" Haymitch comments. I look down at the floor, and I know my cheeks are blushing bright red. I don't want to stand there looking like an idiot, so instead I just throw back, "You going to act like a mentor should, or just drink all evening?" I don't get the reaction I was expecting; he smiles at me and says, "What else do I have to live for?"

He's kidding, right? A part of me hopes he's not being serious, but I know he is. "It's really not about what _you_ have to live for, Haymitch," I say, keeping my voice calm. "It's about what _we_ have to live for. I don't think either of us wants to die in that arena, so I hope you've got some good advice for us or else there's really no point in you being here."

He sobers at that comment, and I can see by looking at Katniss' face that she knows I'm right, too. "Alright, Peeta. Let's figure this out then. What can you do?" he asks bluntly as Avoxes serve us food. I look at the girl whose hair appears to be on fire, and feel a twinge of guilt as she struggles with the weight of an enormous bowl full of some strange dish I've never seen before.

"Don't hurt yourself," I joke, standing to help her with the food. She looks at me, surprised, and although Effie protests, I hush her and hold the heavy bowls for the young woman as she hesitantly scoops each dish onto everyone's plate.

"Really, Peeta, have you learned nothing since coming to the Capitol? These servants will do the work for you for now, you don't have to lift a finger," Effie squeaks in her ever-present accent. "The Avoxes are here for your benefit. Why would you want to do their work for them?"

I know I might say something I regret now; it was just a favor to the girl who is forced by the Capitol to serve people all day long. I don't want to get into even deeper trouble with Effie, or Katniss, for that matter, so I simply say, "I just wanted to be nice, Ms. Trinket," I smile sweetly to her, trying to conceal how feigned my kindness to Effie is. My gaze shifts to Katniss, who nods slightly as if to tell me that she appreciates that I withheld what I really wanted to say to Effie.

I turn back to Haymitch to answer his question. "Not much, actually. I can shoot a bow and arrow. And I'm familiar with knives. I mean, I can't throw them or anything but I'd know what to do with it if I had one." A small silence fills the table as we all begin to eat. All of us but Katniss.

"Are you kidding?" she practically yells, even though I'm sitting right next to her. "That's a start, but I mean, what about everything else?" she inquires.

"What do you mean," I utter, confused by what she said, and how exactly she knows all of my apparent skills.

She rolls her eyes and turns to Haymitch. "He's fast. And strong. He's got incredible endurance. I'd say he could last a good week with no food. And I'd bet you that he could just sneak right up behind you and you would never know he was there. He can shoot an animal straight in the eye with an arrow. I've seen it myself – my father buys his squirrels all the time. And he can climb trees faster than them, too," she stops, looking down at the floor. "That's why he's going to win."

Effie and Haymitch stop eating, silenced by her words, by her acceptance of her imminent death. I, however, am shaken by something else. There is no way she could have known all of that about me without being in the woods to watch it.


	4. The Invisible District

I wake up confused and in a daze for the second time within a 12-hour period the next morning. My sheets are mangled and wrinkled, pillows tossed about the room. I turn over onto my back to see beams of light peeling through the open curtains, the sun just peeking over the horizon. Droplets of dew have formed on the window, some becoming large enough to fall victim to gravity and cascade down the glass. All of a sudden, a bright purple wig and matching peplum outfit appear in the doorway and the woman squeals, "Up, up, up, Peeta! It's going to be a big, big, big day today!"

And now I know where I am.

Effie is about to leave when I realize my promise to Katniss. "Effie, wait!" I call out. She purses her lips, probably nervous that I'll blow up on her again. She just politely says, "Yes Peeta?"

I pause a moment, angry with myself for doing this; she should be the one apologizing to me. I know that what I think is an extremely long and drawn-out apology she will see as barely sufficient, so I talk for as long as I can to explain to her that I did not know what I was doing when I yelled at her when she clearly did no wrong. I silently scream on the inside when I say these words because I understand she indeed did wrong, and I'm sure Katniss knows that too. All that matters is that I get the both of us as much out of harm's way as I can, because going into the Hunger Games, I can't actually control that much anymore. Effie thanks me for my apology and raves about how gentlemanly that was. I simply nod my head and she exits.

Exhausted and annoyed by that over-the-top exchange, I run my hand through my hair and prepare for what I know will be a long day. It's the day of the chariots where we're welcomed into the Capitol wearing ridiculous costumes representing our district's economy. District 12 always ends up overlooked because there isn't much a stylist could do to represent coal other than a plain black outfit. Some years the stylists make our tributes go out completely naked, covered in some sort of a pasty paint substance that makes them look like actual coal, but District 12 might as well be invisible to the crowd because nobody ever acknowledges us regardless of how much clothing we wear. God, I hope Katniss and I won't have to be naked out there.

Most of the day is a complete blur. I don't shower because I know the stylists will have their way with us and I'll end up clean one way or another. I eat an extraordinary breakfast full of exotic fruits, an assortment of breads, delicious meats, and eggs prepared at least ten different ways. I avoid conversation except to tell Katniss that Effie and I made up, and she curtly nods at me. We're shipped to see our stylists quickly after, and I lay in pain while my practically characterless prep team goes to work perfecting my body. It's weird to be naked in front of someone else other than my family or Gale, but I suppose I'll have to accept a lot of new things now. An abundance of flavorful food. Bizarre clothing, makeup, and behaviors in Capitol citizens. Career tributes who were raised to be bloodthirsty human beings. My imminent death.

I'm lost in my thoughts when I realize nobody has plucked or scrubbed or washed anything for a few minutes. I push myself up onto my elbows to find myself alone in a large room, a paper sheet covering my naked body. That's when my stylist walks in and immediately heads towards me. "I'm Portia," she says simply, giving a slight smile before handing me a soft robe.

She is a sight. Her platinum blonde hair is cut straight across her forehead, curving up slightly at her temples so that her bangs form a wide V. Her short curls stick out several inches from her face, the volume of her locks causing them to puff out around her entire head. She has incredibly long eyelashes that must be fake, and her eyelids have a swoop of jet-black eyeliner. She wears pink eye shadow up to her brows, which are stained blonde, and her lips are painted in such a dark purple that they almost appear black.

"So I guess you're probably wondering what you and Katniss will be wearing for the ceremony," she says, her attention on a sketchbook she's flipping through.

"It's crossed my mind," I say vaguely. In reality, I'm terrified of what this woman will dress me in. I've been fighting a little voice inside my head all day that keeps telling me we'll be naked.

"Well, your clothes," Portia starts, trying to figure out how to word what she wants to say. She sighs, smiling as she finishes, "I don't think anyone will be able to see them until the end. They'll be quite surprised to _see_ you." Shit. We're going to be naked.

That was what I thought, at least, until she hands me a suit of sleek black leather and tells me to get dressed. The suit consists of a long-sleeved shirt with embellishments on the front, skin-tight pants that outline my muscular build, and thick black boots that travel up to my knees. I'm confused by this outfit; why would she say nobody will be able to see my clothes until the end? Of course I'm thrilled that I won't be naked, but what she said doesn't make any sense. Regardless, I allow her to slick back my blonde hair that has been meticulously scrubbed by the prep team, and we leave the styling room to meet Katniss, her stylists, Effie, and Haymitch.

When we arrive, Katniss looks about as confused as I am, and her stylist, who introduces himself as Cinna, smiles mischievously at Portia.

"What the hell is going on? What did Cinna tell you? Because I was convinced they were going to send us out naked until Portia gave me this," I say to Katniss, gesturing towards my costume.

Katniss shrugs and comments, "I guess we'll find out when we get onto the runway in our chariot." I take a minute to take her in; I've been worried about the outfits this whole time but I didn't even recognize how incredible she looks. She's dressed in a more feminine version of my own jumpsuit, her brown hair parted to the side, flowing over her right shoulder. Her surprisingly muscular body is completely outlined by the skintight costume, which I feel quite grateful for. When she notices me looking at her, I say, "You look…" I pause for effect, "you look beautiful. I don't think I've seen your hair down enough times to count on one hand."

"Yeah, same goes for you," she jokes, smiling before the stylists finally approach us to explain themselves. "Cinna," she mumbles.

"Alright, I'll take you out of your misery. Neither of you are naked, so I guess that's a good thing for you both?" Katniss and I make eye contact, nodding furiously. "You'll be wearing clothes, but no one in the audience will know that," he smirks, continuing. "Portia and I have been working for months designing a type of garment that will… hide you. Essentially, it's an invisibility cloak. You'll see yourselves inside of it, but nobody else will see you." Cinna smiles, pleased with himself, while Katniss and I gawk at him.

"You can do that?" Katniss asks, astonished. "I mean, they'll just see right through us? We'll be completely invisible?" she asks, looking at me to see my reaction. I, of course, am speechless, my eyebrows rising in question. As if to answer us, Portia brings over a large white blanket, throws it over the two of us, and asks me to locate a small button sewn into the fabric. I concentrate on Katniss' soft, rhythmic breathing as I tug on the cloak and press the button when I find it. It's dark underneath, but both Haymitch and Effie are gasping at the miracle occurring before their eyes. I watch through the transparent blanket as Cinna embraces Portia, both excited by the show they'll be putting on, using us as their models. Apparently, we can see through the blanket, and nobody else can see us, but the invisibility is only triggered when the button is pushed. I pull the blanket off and both Katniss and I embrace our stylists as President Snow announces the chariot showing will ensue shortly. I climb into the chariot to the right of my district partner, clutching the still activated invisibility cloak as the chariots are lined up. Haymitch smiles at us in encouragement and before I have a chance to wave, the chariot lurches forward. I throw the blanket over the two of us, but not over the chariot, as we enter the runway behind District 11.

"You ready?" I ask Katniss rhetorically, grinning at her. My right arm and her left are posed up to hold the lightweight blanket over us, but my left arm and her right hang down by our sides.

"No," she whimpers, and I look to her in surprise.

"It's alright, I've got you," I soothe, grasping her hand tightly in mine. She looks up at me, giving me yet again the look I cannot distinguish. I can usually tell what she's feeling by looking at her eyes; she is easily readable. This is the one look that I can't decide what's going through her head. Instead of trying to figure it out, however, I look ahead of the chariot and begin to count silently in my head.

One Mississippi. Shock. Confusion. Befuddlement. That's all I can see on anyone's faces as Katniss and I stroll in last, our bodies invisible but our chariot and horse completely evident to others around us. Two Mississippi. When I can see our empty chariot on the huge television screen, I know it's time to shed the blanket. Three Mississippi. Suddenly, the blanket is on the floor of our chariot as I twist my arm to reveal our bodies. The crowd cheers as I raise my left arm, still clutching Katniss' in mine. We are unified, an indivisible district. I watch the screen as Cinna and Portia surprise me again. The costumes I previously thought were showing solely black coal begin to tear apart. Katniss looks at me, worried the stylists made the jumpsuit to peel off of us and expose us nakedly. I, however, understand, and look to her with certainty. Shreds of black fabric fall to the runway below us, revealing sparkling diamonds just barely showing through. More and more of our black jumpsuits fall to the ground until there are just tatters left and our costumes reflect the most brilliant beams of light. Cinna and Portia have turned the invisible district into the most prominent tributes here. District 12 will not be overlooked this year.


	5. I Like to Paint

Our District 12 gang – that is, Katniss, Cinna, Portia, our prep teams, Haymitch, Effie, and me – travel back to the suite for the televised showing of the ceremony. It's a relief when I discover that the invisibility cloak did work; I was worried it wouldn't and we'd look like morons holding a white blanket over our heads. Upon closer inspection, the cloak doesn't appear completely flawless; although our bodies cannot be seen, when I look at where we should be, the scene beyond us is a bit foggy, the same way everything looks blurry during a heat wave. Judging by the utter disbelief on everyone's faces, however, I know that nobody suspected a thing. The show we put on is incredible, especially when I unveil our black leather costumes and our hands tightly clenched together representing our unity. The leather starts to peel as we raise our hands above our heads, revealing what coal becomes when condensed: diamonds. Needless to say, we were the most noticeable tributes out there. Ironically, this is the year District 12 finally became visible.

When the recap is finally over, I rise and announce that I'm going to bed, and thank Cinna and Portia for their brilliance that probably gave us hundreds of willing sponsors. Katniss does the same, knowing it's best to get as much sleep as possible prior to our first day of training. I'm about to close my door when her voice reaches me from down the hall.

"Peeta… wait!" she calls out in a hushed tone. I'm taken by surprise; mostly Katniss just gives me the cold shoulder in preparation for being thrown into the arena where the idea is to try to kill each other. My glance shifts up to meet her grey eyes, and she looks down at the ground quickly in embarrassment. She bites her lip before saying, "I just wanted to thank you… for today. I probably would have fallen right off that chariot if you didn't keep hold of me."

"Yeah, I was contemplating just poking you a bit so you'd fall off but I decided that might be a little mean," I joke. "I figured we'd look moronic enough. I had myself convinced we were just holding a white sheet over our heads and it was all a setup."

"Then it turned out much better than we both imagined, I guess," she says, smiling. "Thanks again, Peeta. Good night."

"Good night, Katniss."

I close the door slowly, resting my right hand on the doorknob and my left hand on the painted oak a foot above it. For the first time in days I feel legitimately happy. Then I realize where I am.

The next morning I wake up at the crack of dawn, my body trained to know the hours of the day and the best time for hunting. I peel the blankets back, grateful for the profound comfort I find within this silky bed. After washing up a bit in the expansive bathroom, I walk into the dining corridor for breakfast. I expect to be eating alone, which is why I'm startled to see Katniss and Haymitch sitting across the table from each other, eating from a bowl of strawberries. The plump red fruit reminds me of Madge, the girl back home whom Gale and I sold them to often. Just days ago we were sitting in the same room of the Justice Building, where she revealed to me a different part of herself, one that despises being so wealthy because it brings upon her hatred from the less fortunate. Something else happened in that room, too, but I'm still trying to figure that out.

"What would you do if they found you?" he asks her.

"I'd run," she answers quickly.

"What if they're faster? And they catch up to you?" Haymitch prompts. She's stumped by his rebuttal. Although I haven't been tuned into the entire conversation, I know that he's talking about being found by the Careers, highly trained tributes from Districts 1, 2, and 4. They're all out for blood, and they have a psychotic mindset that allows them to thirst for blood and want to torture and slay the other tributes when given the chance. In fact, after training their entire lives for the Games, they purposely volunteer to go into the arena in the hopes of coming out a Victor where they are idolized in their District for years.

"Bottom line: never let the Careers find you. Do not give them the chance to kill you, because if you do, they will. And they won't do it quickly, either," he says darkly.

I see this as a chance to make an entrance into the room; neither of them has noticed my appearance yet, which I credit to the need for quietness while hunting in the woods at home. "Good lesson," I interject. Both Haymitch and Katniss' attention turns to me as I hastily sit down next to her at the table and scoop luscious foods onto my plate. "But wouldn't you at least want to try to fight them off if the Careers found you and you couldn't outrun them?" I ask.

Suddenly his eyes become glassy, his right hand clutching the cup he was about to drink from. I glance over at Katniss, but she seems about as confused as me. "Yes," he says vaguely, finally seeming to come out of a trance, "if your life depended on it you wouldn't want to go without putting up a fight. But it's doubtful that you'd stand a chance. They tend to travel in packs. They're strong, fast, and talented. Usually they get very skilled in one specific weapon that they train for their entire lives and the Gamemakers are sure to put those weapons into the arena." He looks at me with wisdom coursing through his blue eyes, trying to ensure that I believe everything he says.

The training center is, somehow, also in this massive hotel so Katniss and I only need to descend a few floors by elevator to get to it. Haymitch gives us advice before we leave, that neither of us should show any of our strengths around the other tributes, and only practice what we are unfamiliar with. We leave him and get into the training center just in time to take our places among the other tributes to listen to an older woman explain the rules and regulations of training: we are not to hurt each other until we go into the Games, but we may fraternize and try to form alliances while training. There are specific stations where the experts will teach us how to master the skill offered there, but it is not advisable to spend too much time at any one station, as a variety of survival skills are necessary to win the Games. The woman wishes us good luck, and everyone disperses, hoping to acquire much-needed skills that will hopefully help them to become a Victor. Katniss immediately goes to the edible plants station, understanding that plants could save a life, whether used as food or medicine, but could be lethal if she unknowingly picks the wrong one. I look longingly at the archery station, wishing I could pick up one of the bows and have the serene feeling of shooting an arrow straight into the bull's eye. However, I decide it's best to heed Haymitch's warning and stay away from my strengths. Instead, I choose the sword station and spend about an hour and a half building up confidence in that weapon before moving on just as a few Careers are about to begin training there. They appear impressed by my quickly acquired skill in swords, so I decide to dial down the weaponry and change pace to the knot-tying station.

After about and hour of learning to tie basic knots, I find Katniss in the middle of the arena looking at a map of the stations, choosing her next skill area. I thank the trainer tersely and walk over to Katniss, hoping she will want to train with me at a new station.

"I hear the knife station is cutting-edge," I say, grinning at my own joke as she nods with a ghost of a smile on her face, leading the way to the knife station. The trainer expresses his thanks for being able to teach two tributes at once, then quickly begins to show us how to use them, from cutting bark from a tree as a last resort for food to throwing them at far-away targets that I grimly realize might be translated into people the next time I throw a dagger similar to these. After a full two hours of training in knives, the woman who lectured us earlier announces that it's time for lunch, so everyone files out to return to their suite for a feast. Afterwards, we're to return for another three hours before dinnertime.

Katniss and I agree to train together for the upcoming three-hour session, which we spend in part learning how to make fire, which seems to come easily to the both of us. For an hour we practice fishing, and in the remaining hour and a half, we work on camouflage. She surprises both the trainer and me when she easily paints her arm into a tree using only the mud, charcoal, and leaves supplied there.

"How did you know how to do that?" I ask her, astonished. I could probably do the same if given hours, but she made her entire arm perfectly resemble the tree in less than five minutes.

"I frost the cakes in the bakery," she says, still focusing on decorating her arm with a careful hand, "and I like to paint."

"Paint what?" I inquire, sincerely wondering what engendered this hidden talent.

She looks into my eyes, clearly taken aback by my genuine interest. Her mouth opens as if she's about to give an honest answer, but she thinks better of it and looks down to ambiguously respond, "Lots of things. Landscapes. People. Plants."

I smile, content with this small disclosure, and reply, "I'd love to see it sometime." Just as she's about to say something back, a bell goes off, like the ones in school, to release us from our training session. We both get up and silently walk to the elevator together for dinner.


	6. How Do You Know

The night is restless, but that was to be expected. Our first day of training already has me down on myself, hopeless that I'll ever make it back to District 12 alive. There are six other tributes that have been training for years for this, and all I have going for me are the skills I acquired in the woods. Shooting. Climbing. Snares. Stealth. Speed. Aside from those few talents I can call my own, there is nothing that sets me apart from the other untrained tributes. That means I stand a chance at making it into the top eight, but even that is a long shot. At least the other tributes all learned some form of a trade; all I have is book knowledge about coal mining, but we can't even work in the mines until we're 18 and have finished our last reaping, so nothing from home can really help any of my district's tributes to survive. I sigh loudly and pull off the blankets, trying to escape my own thoughts.

Before I know where my feet are leading me, I'm in the elevator zooming down to the floor that contains the enormous training center. It's probably locked, I know, but I can't help but glance through the windows in a pointless effort to absorb some kind of skill that will undermine my utter lack of hope to win the Games.

I must be delirious, because when I peer through the frosted glass of the windows, I'm sure I can see something. A long, slender implement slices through the air at eye level, parallel to the panel of windows I look in from, and sticks itself directly into the target I assume it was aimed at, just an inch away from the bull's eye. An arrow. Before I can even imagine who is in there with shooting skills almost equating mine, a figure appears, running at the target. The person holds the bow tight against their chest and rolls over their right shoulder with perfect finesse, coming up on one knee. The bow is quickly raised and threaded and another arrows sticks in the target instantly, further away from the bull's eye this time, but nevertheless, it's excellent shooting.

Suddenly I hear someone walking down a hallway near the door to the facility. Masked in darkness, I watch as the mammoth of a boy from 2, Cato, stomps towards the door, thrusts it open, and walks inside. With the stealth I gained from hunting in the forest, I silently, albeit very quickly, stride over to the door, catching it just before it closes. The foggy window no longer clouds the scene, and the archer is revealed.

It's Katniss.

It takes an inconceivable amount of restraint to maintain my position at the door, where I can watch the scene unfold without being noticed. Katniss drops her bow, taken by surprise, and it clanks loudly against the floor as she inaudibly mutters something, probably in explanation for her presence in the training facility. A disgustingly flirtatious grin adorns Cato's face as he drawls, "No need to explain, Angelface. I just wanted you to teach me how to use that thing. Maybe I could give you something in return," he says, brushing a stray piece of hair from her face. His hand comes to rest on her hip, dangerously close to a place I never want his hands to be. His intention is not lost on me, but I intend to stay hidden, at least for now.

Shocked, she slaps his hand away. "Don't touch me, 2." She backs away, keeping her eyes trained on his as she seethes, "I will not teach you another way to kill innocent children." Her bottom lip tucks slightly underneath her upper lip in what I know all too well to be an angry and defensive grimace. He continues to approach her, backing her up against the padded wall. Slowly he raises his arms and pushes palms against the wall just inches away from her face, enclosing her in a human trap.

"And what do you think will happen if you don't?" he teases, the meaning behind his words clear.

My blood boils as I watch, rage building within me. I have no desire to be caught here after hours, but I cannot simply watch any longer. I fling open the door as his face draws nearer to hers and practically yell, "Is there a problem here?" My anger is unmistakable, as I am past hiding it at this point. Katniss gasps at the sight of me, and even in this low light I can see her cheeks flame. Cato smiles demonically and marches over, clearly pleased that I'm apparently playing hero. The smile is still plastered on his face when he sneers, "I don't know. Do we?"

"That depends," I answer quickly as he halts, his larger body not a foot away from mine. "Were you just threatening my district partner?" At that, he thrusts me up against a wall, knocking the wind out of me, and snarls, "So what if I was? There's nothing you could do to stop me." Suddenly I throw him off of me and onto the floor, pinning him. His large, trained muscles ripple as he twists me off of him, his strength that can only be attained from years of weight lifting overpower me, but I'm just getting started. We roll around on the floor, both of us trying to gain the upper hand, as Katniss looks on, terrified.

"Peeta," she whispers, catching me off-guard, and clamps a hand over her mouth as she realizes she broke my concentration long enough for Cato to roll on top of me and punch me square in the jaw. A sucker punch. He thinks he has me beat and crouches above me, holding his fist cocked two feet above my face, when I kick his legs out from underneath him and he tumbles over to my right. I use this to my advantage and dive on top of him, now gaining the upper hand. His knee quickly jabs into me in a now very unhappy place, and I coil onto the floor in a heap.

I expect him to jump on top of me, and brace myself to bear the brunt of his weight. When I am not compacted into the ground, I glance hazily up from the floor, dazed, to see him going after Katniss. My adrenaline builds again and my vision clears. Regardless of the pain ebbing at me, I gather my bearings, pull myself up, and run after him, lunging at him when I get close enough. I careen into muscles that feel like bricks on impact, and he topples to the ground, just feet away from where Katniss stands, frozen. In one fell swoop, I gather his collar in my fists and haul him against the wall, trapping him in the same way he trapped both Katniss and I separately just minutes ago.

Cato is breathless and defeated, and his eyes clench tight while every muscle in his body tenses, waiting for me to unleash pure terror on him. Instead I bring my face a mere inch from his and angrily growl, "Don't ever touch her again, or I swear, I _will _kill you," and throw him down to the ground. He lays there heaving as I glance up at Katniss and turn to exit, gratified only by the soft tapping of her footsteps against the ground that follow me by mere yards.

She joins me in the elevator, not daring to speak a word until we ascend seven floors. "Peeta?" she breathes, staring up at my face but not yielding any kind of response. I have no way to explain to her where the might came from to overpower a Career in her name, but I wouldn't give her any explanations even if I did. She still owes me too big an explanation herself. When we finally reach our floor, the doors slide open and I walk away quickly, shutting my door before she has a chance to enter. I stand there a moment, unsure if I should go out there and explain to her what just happened, but I decide against it. Confrontation has never been my strong suit.

A small knock resonates at the door, and I watch the oak panel for what feels like hours until Katniss quietly calls my name. I cannot resist but open the door slightly, but find nothing there until she curls her fingers around it and forces it open. I step back as she enters, her body pressing up against mine briefly before I do. Only the moon lights the chamber, as I haven't had a chance to turn on any lights yet, but I can still see the unmistakable shine in her eyes.

"What just happened, Peeta?" she asks, her voice shaking. I sigh and turn on a light, a bit on edge, battered but angry that she hasn't explained herself yet. She waits expectantly, but instead I turn away and sit on the side of my bed, furrowing my brows at her.

"You want to tell _me _what happened instead? How do you know how to shoot like that? You're the freaking baker's daughter, Katniss. And how do you know all that stuff about me that you told Haymitch a couple days ago?" It's my turn to await her reply, but she simply turns her face to the floor and goes silent. Just as I'm about to jump off the bed and walk out of my own bedroom, she speaks up. And she immediately says something that shocks me, something that I've been expecting but not really knowing I'd hear from her.

"I watch you," she says simply, but then continues in a more detailed story. A few years ago, she came to the woods in search of food, since the bakery wasn't doing too well, and she was sick of stale bread. She observed for months while Gale and I hunted so that she could replicate what we did, using my own spare bows hidden away in places I don't regularly check. She watched from the treetops as we both mindlessly went about our hunting, and borrowed our trained skills, teaching herself along the way. Suddenly I am stricken with a fear I cannot place; this whole time I thought Katniss was unreachable, but she lingered just above me while I hunted in the sole place where I find comfort. When she completes her story, she pauses, waiting for a reaction that does not come. I simply sit there, staring at her, flabbergasted, but she understands that I need time to completely process this, and leaves with a simple "goodnight."

The girl I have been in love with ever since I remember has been stalking me and I didn't even know it. I cannot even begin to comprehend this information, I simply feel relief that Gale and I only ever held conversations in the open meadow where she would not have been within earshot to hear us. So she still doesn't know. And that leaves me where I was at the beginning of this night, lying restless in my bed, Katniss still miles beyond my reach.

For obvious reasons, Katniss avoids me the following week. We rarely speak at meal times, and when we do, it's along the lines of "pass the peas." She stops saying goodnight to me when we go to bed at the same time after watching reruns of past Games. Effie brought the tapes because she thinks knowing strategies typical to each district will help us, and we might also learn some fight moves we can employ when we have run-ins with other tributes in the arena. Haymitch says he watched endless tapes in his free time on training days before he went into the arena, so it's probably a good idea to do that, too, considering he's alive now.

It's the last day of training. So far, I've gotten a decent handle on swords, tridents, axes, spears, and knives, and I absorbed all the trainers' knowledge in camouflage, fishing, edible plants and insects, knot tying, and shelters. I even challenged the brawny, dark-skinned boy from 11 and the lean, tanned boy from 4 to wrestle on separate training days. I let them both win even though I could have easily overpowered them. I didn't want to attract attention fro Careers, who might want to finish me off early if I seem like a threat. The only station I have not visited is archery, and my fingers itch to grab the largest bow they have and shoot dozens of arrows straight into the heart of every practice dummy. Kill shot. That's out of the question, though. No other tribute but Katniss can know my talent, or I'll instantly be marked as a threat and targeted.

Suddenly my thoughts are interrupted as Cato takes a place next to me at the swords station where I've been practicing for about half an hour. I half-expect him to turn the sword on me, but he simply carries on with his vicious slashing as I look on, cutting multiple dummies completely in half with brute force. I gulp nervously, hoping it wasn't audible, and continue practicing. My skills in the heavy weapon are impressive given how short a time I've been training, but pale in comparison to his utter finesse when wielding it. I can actually see the outlines of each of his muscles that bulge through his shirt, but that does not make me question how I won the brawl with him several nights ago. It was different than the straightforward facts of who is stronger or heavier or quicker. If he jumped me now, he'd have me unconscious in ten seconds flat. There was something at stake last time.

Strangely enough, after fifteen minutes of silent sword practice, Cato speaks up. "You fought pretty hard the other night over your little girlfriend. What's her name? Katniss?"

I place my sword on the rack and turn to face him. "She's not my girlfriend. Besides, why would you want to revisit when I kicked your ass?" I smirk, enjoying pissing him off in an environment where he's not allowed to attack me.

He quickly reacts, not paying any attention to my dig at him. "So, what then? You're just madly in love with her?" His sword joins mine on the rack and he turns to face me, his arms folded across his chest to reveal just how bulky his muscles are. His feet are spread shoulder-width apart and he leans back slightly, his head tipped up with a challenging simper playing across his face. I think it's meant to appear menacing, but it's not very believable.

My eyebrows knit together, but I am not confused by how he has figured that out. Longing glances after her. A large smile that only adorns my face when I talk to her. The monster that unleashed itself when I beat him to a pulp for her. It's remarkable that she doesn't know. I vaguely comment, "Something like that."

"But she doesn't. That make you mad?" he asks, pressing further. I shrug in response, walking back over to the sword rack, knowing he'll just keep pressing the subject that I find very tender, so I just decide to wait it out. Just as I thought, he continues regardless of my stoicism. Of course she doesn't make me angry. I'm just frustrated by how oblivious she is to my eternal love, and I just want to walk away from him because of the ludicrous suggestion, but what he says next intrigues me, so I stay. His eyes darken and he asks in a sinister growl, "Mad enough to get back at her?"

Immediately I quit toying with the swords and discover the reason behind this drawn-out conversation. He is requesting that I ally with him and his friends, because he has pegged me as a skilled fighter who will best know how to find "the invisible girl," whom he desperately wants to go after and kill because she refused him the other night. He offers his hand and I eye it warily.

This is ridiculous. How could he ever think I'd want to hurt Katniss? But that's when it hits me: he doesn't have to know that I don't. I could pretend to be tracking her for days in the arena but really lead the away from her. It would virtually give her complete protection from her biggest danger in the Games, at least for a few days. I could soundlessly leave them at night when they're all asleep, and be miles away before any of them woke up. With any luck, they'd be too far away to find me again, and even further away to ever get to Katniss. I look around the training center to see the Career pack intently watching the exchange. They've probably all been let in on this manipulative scheme and are just waiting for me to give in and supply them with the knowledge they need to get what they most desire. Katniss' blood. I, however, am too smart for them, and look beyond them to her. I send the most hateful stare in her direction for a convincing effect, for once thankful that she isn't looking at me.

Then I look back at Cato, down at his outstretched hand, and grasp it in my own as his face registers only gratification because he thinks he's just been granted what he wants most in these Games.

"Deal," I declare firmly just seconds before the bell ring to release us from our last training session.

"Don't say anything about this to her, you hear me?" he mutter under his breath. I nod covertly and walk towards Katniss. She doesn't appear to suspect anything, so I blanket my face in an emotionless mask and stride briskly out of the center with her.


	7. Axes, Swords, and Spears

Of course I'm not going to tell her, but not for the reason Cato thinks. There's really no reason she knows of that I should be doing this, so she would only distrust me. Even if I can't disclose the false agreement to her, I can tell Haymitch my plans. In fact, I should, because that way he'll understand my strategy and won't be lead to believe that I'm deceiving her.

Tonight we have our scored training sessions. Everyone individually shows off all of their best skills in front of prominent Gamemakers, who then rate each tribute on a scale of 1-12, 1 being the absolute worst and 12 being a nearly unattainable best. There have only been about 50 tributes in the history of the Hunger Games to receive a 12. Predictably, almost all of them were from Career districts. With the last day of training behind me and my body well-rested after turning in early last night, I join Haymitch and Katniss at the dining table that is, as always, strewn with a bounty of incredible Capitol food that I always feel guilty for eating when I think of the starving people in District 12. Effie is nowhere to be seen, to my delight that is contrasted by my lack of excitement to be here. At least I don't have to hear that dreadful woman insist that we must both be so thrilled to be here representing our district. Haymitch nods to me as I sit down and I flick my eyes over to find any acknowledgement from Katniss, but she is stoic, her face blank as she stabs a strawberry with her fork and twirls it around in the fruit juice puddled on her plate before placing it in her mouth. The small fruit reminds me of a classically beautiful blonde girl in 12 who kissed me before I left the day this all started. I'm not sure what my feelings are towards her yet, but it might not mater because it's not sure that I will return. In fact, it's not even probable.

"So what have you gotten good at in training this past week?" Haymitch inquires, breaking the silence and my thoughts as he dips a tea bag into a mug of hot water with honey and lemon. I realize this is the first time I've seen him drink a non-alcoholic beverage.

I have to think about it for a moment. I know my skills in archery are indispensible, but that was obvious. I've developed a certain liking for the axe, which I can throw quite accurately. I even got notably good with knives and swords, but obviously not like Cato or Clove, the short, dark-haired District 2 girl. She can throw any type of knife at a moving dummy with her eyes closed and deliver a kill shot every single time. In training, whenever she does this to show off, the other Careers just smile and laugh at the tributes gawking at her. Clove herself gains a tight smirk and her dark, snake-like eyes light up demonically.

"Axes. Swords. Knives. And obviously I already know archery," I answer neutrally.

"What about survival skills?" he asks, but I have to search his face twice to see if he's being serious. I raise my right eyebrow slightly and lean my face forward with intrigue.

"Haymitch. I've been hunting illegally in the woods for years back in 12. How much better survival training can you get?" I ask rhetorically. Really the training experts only refreshed the already present knowledge I have of important survival skills, and there wasn't much I was able to truly learn. Haymitch just nods at me, as if accepting my vast experience, and turns to Katniss.

"What about you, sweetheart? You learn anything?" he asks, as if there is any question as to if she took advantage of the available training.

Katniss finishes chewing the toast and poached eggs she's been working on, and says simply, "Spears." Haymitch lurches back slightly in surprise. Usually, spear throwing is a talent mastered exclusively by boys. Career boys, more specifically. This year that boy is Marvel, the District 1 boy, who has probably been throwing spears since he was a kid. I vaguely remember thinking he seemed much too small to be strong enough for spears, and when he showed off how far he could throw it during training, his skills appeared meager considering he's probably been training since he was a kid.

"How far can you throw them?" I hear myself ask, surprised at myself for talking to her, the girl who has ignored me since I discovered her secret about the woods. She appears momentarily shocked, too, but regains composure and looks me dead in the eye, suddenly not embarrassed.

"Far," she says gravely.

Haymitch is beside himself, enthralled by her newly unveiled skill, leaning back in his seat with his arms crossed loosely over his chest, a comical smile playing on his lips. "And how did Katniss Everdeen get strong enough to throw a spear?"

Suddenly I realize how she's good at spear throwing. At the bakery, I've seen her haul 100-pound bags of flour around without a single trace of strain or fatigue. How did I not see this coming? Her arm muscles bulge through her shirt and her shoulders are wide and brawny from years of carrying heavy loads that her mother and younger sister could not handle. She doesn't mention any of this, however. She simply shrugs and mumbles that she's finished, pushing away from the table. This leaves Haymitch and I alone, and with Katniss already in her room, I know I can begin to explain the alliance to him.

"What was that all about?" he asks me, half-heartedly interested.

"She's the baker's daughter. She carries huge bags of flour and stuff around so she got pretty strong, I guess. I bet she can even throw farther than the stupid Career boy who has thrown them his whole life." I explain tersely.

"Huh," is all he says in response.

"Haymitch, what do you think about making alliances?" I ask tentatively, hoping I'm not reminding him of some tragic event that happened in his Games. He looks distant for a moment, and I fear I've struck a nerve. His eyes go glassy as he grips the tablecloth in his fist, staring at nothing in particular. He takes a deep breath and brings himself out of the second trance I've observed, finally making eye contact with me.

I must look very surprised and concerned, because he looks down into his lap, embarrassed, and simply says, "It's hard to get involved in them, knowing what's going to have to happen later."

"But what if I knew that it would benefit myself and someone else for a little while, then got out of it as soon as I didn't benefit anymore?" I ask, trying to lead him in the right direction. He looks intrigued as he wipes traces of bacon and orange juice from his unshaven face. "I told Cato I'd ally with him and the Careers because he wanted me to help him find 'the invisible girl,'" I explain, smirking as I put air quotes around her nickname. The amusement is struck from his face suddenly and he throws his silk napkin down on the table, pushing his chair back abruptly as he stands.

"You're going to betray your district partner?" he exclaims. His voice only reaches a whisper because Katniss is in the other room, but I can hear his exasperation clearly. "What the hell are you thinking?"

"Haymitch, it's not what you think. I was going to lead them away from her and then take off before they realize what I'm doing," I clarify quickly before he grabs the knife off the table and slits my throat with it. "I wanted to tell you so you would know my strategy. And so you could just send any gifts you can get to her. If this year follows past trends, the Careers will have everything in the Cornucopia secured by the end of the first day, and I can just make off with a bunch of food and medicine." It's a lot to take in at breakfast. The sun hasn't fully risen over the horizon yet and we're talking about very involved strategies here. Haymitch sits back down, stunned by how much I've thought this through, and complies with a simple, "Okay."

The day carries on as usual: Katniss and I watch Hunger Games tapes, looking for more fight tactics we can absorb and store in our memories to use when we go into the arena. Later on we eat lunch, helping Haymitch list off things we must remember for tonight's evaluation. He prompts me first, explaining that archery is the most important thing to show off. Next are axes, then swords, and then knives. I should also make a point to demonstrate my strength, speed, and survival skills, as Gamemakers don't rate us simply on the ability to wield weapons. Katniss is next, and she fills him in on skills he doesn't already know she possesses; their exchange at breakfast did not reveal much. She is to shoot her bow and arrow as well as throw the spear, but stay away from unfamiliar weapons because they could lower her score. Then she can continue on to show other strengths, most importantly her camouflaging techniques.

The next hours pass by quickly and mercilessly, and before I can comprehend the rapidly eroding time, Katniss and I are seated in a secluded room to await our turns in silence. Sitting with just her here, I realize how much I want to talk to her, to tell her everything I've never said but always wanted to. Words swirl around in my head, forming perfect sentences that seem easy to spout out to her, but stick to the back of my throat when I try to say them. I can't say them here and now. It's just not right yet. Either way it doesn't matter because they're calling my name and I have to leave for my session. As soon as I stand, Katniss grabs my wrist firmly but releases her grip once I turn around, as if she's embarrassed that she touched me.

"Peeta," she breathes, and I let my eyes seep into hers, wondering what she has to say when I couldn't manage a word. "Make your brothers proud." She stares sweetly and sincerely up at me as I nod, grateful for the empowering sentiment. It keeps me strong when I step into the room that holds an incredible amount of weapons and obstacle courses. Immediately I lunge for the bow, intent on introducing myself strongly. The Gamemakers seem a bit restless after evaluating 22 other tributes, so I decide then to put on a show. I gingerly grab a large bow and sheath of perfect metal arrows from the rack, throwing the sheath over my shoulder as I begin. I sprint quickly to the first target dummy, remembering what Katniss said. I put at least 50 yards between the dummy and myself as the Gamemakers watch, amused, assuming a tribute from an outlying district like myself must be just another weakling to be overlooked. _Show them what you can do, _I think to myself, but I'm not thinking about the Gamemakers watching me. _Prove to them that you will not let the Capitol ruin what they lived to preserve._

It is made evident that they were completely mistaken in their assumptions when an arrow slices through the air, piercing directly through the heart of the dummy. I roll forward on my right shoulder, coming up on one knee and quickly stringing another arrow through the bow and shooting it through the forehead of my fake victim. My bow and arrow practice continues for about fifteen minutes, as the Gamemakers look on, astonished. When I finish, I replace the bow and arrow on the cart and move on to axes.

_What they lived to preserve,_ I reflect silently as I draw an axe from another shelf and sprint over to a new dummy. _My parents. The ones they tried so hard to protect. The ones who sat back and watched their children do all of their work for them. _The sturdy manikin stares down at me as I raise my axe mid stride, letting it fly back as far as possible to put as much power into my swing as I have to offer. _My parents. The ones who did nothing to protect much more vulnerable and smaller versions of themselves. The ones who let the deaths of my brothers break them just when I needed someone to protect and provide for me. The ones who forced me to fight for my own survival before I even became a teenager. _The heavy axe I hold flings forward, and I strike a deafening blow into the dummy's stomach then pull it out with great finesse, now aiming to chop just above where I last hit. _My parents. The ones who would not visit me before I entered a sadistic pageant to fight for my life against other children. _A sickening chop reverberates through the air and I remove the slick, sharp blade, continuing to maul this inanimate object. A last blow is dealt straight into the heart of the dummy, cutting deep into the body before I extricate my weapon a final time and replace it on the weapons wagon.

That's when I see the shimmer of a long, sharp implement glinting from above the axe. I know what it is and I intend to use it well. I quickly grab it off the cart and stride toward the same dummy, using every ounce of my strength to slice through the dummy. For ten minutes I sling around this weapon, cutting off entire body parts and appendages. At last, I grip the sword handle with both hands above my head and strain every muscle in my body as I force it straight through the victim's heart, skewering it with metal.

Strangely enough, there are no throwing knives in the training room. Instead of letting the rest of my time run out, however, I charge towards the ropes course and nimbly climb through it, avoiding the traps carefully as I make my way to the end. Once I finish, I make it my task to display all of my capabilities, from tying complicated knot to creating fires to fabricating hammocks and shelters. Just as I realize I have nothing left to show the Gamemakers, Seneca Crane calls out, "Peeta Mellark. That's all we need to see. You may go now."

My gaze shifts upward, my exhausted body heaving and dripping perspiration. This is the first time I've noticed that he's the only one left standing there, a mask of sheer non-emotion covering his face. He turns from the balcony to a door I never saw before and steps out of the room, leaving me in solitude. I gather my bearings and leave the same way I came in, already anxious for Caesar Flickerman to announce the scores received tonight.


	8. The Star Crossed Lovers

In the middle of the night, all I hear is screaming. I recognize the voice, and quickly scramble across my room to throw open the door in a desperate search to locate the source of the cries for help. I'm running at a dead sprint down the hall towards the noises before it's too late. The bloodcurdling screams for no one in particular are swapped for the one that scares me the most.

"Peeta! Peeta!" I hear, and I can only form one clear thought: I must save her.

"I'm coming! I'm coming Katniss!" I shout back, clinging on to the hope that I can get to her. All of a sudden, I begin to shake uncontrollably, and I realize the entire room is shaking, too. The walls and floors quiver violently, and everything comes crashing to the ground. The chandelier drops, expensive crystal shattering into a million pieces right in front of me. "Katniss, where are you?" I yell out, my voice raw. "Katniss!" There is no reply, and an eerie silence falls over the suite. I realize I have failed. I could not save her.

My body starts to shake again, but not because of an earthquake. I am emotionally broken. The girl I love cannot answer, and I know that can only mean that whoever was making her produce those dreadful screams killed her. They're coming for me, next, I know, but I don't even care. Take me, there's nothing left to live for anyway.

Out of nowhere, Cato limps into the room carrying a dagger dripping with Katniss' blood. He spots me cowering on the floor and gains a sick grin on his face, prepared to give me the same fate as Katniss. All I can do is lay there, paralyzed, screaming for my lost love. He approaches me as he poises the knife above his head to slay me, and when I expect a deep cry to resonate through the air, all I hear come out of his mouth is "Peeta! Get up! Peeta!" in Katniss' voice.

My eyes abruptly flick open and I take in my surroundings, confusion washing over my face. I'm lying within the comfort of my large, silky bed, a sheen of sweat soaking into my shirt. The sheet is crumpled into a ball at the end of the bed, my fist clutching a wad of it. The blankets are strewn across the floor and a frantic Katniss is hovering above me, grabbing me by the shirt collar. I look around in a daze, and she promptly slaps me across the face.

"Peeta!" she yells.

"I'm up! I'm up!" I say, pushing up from my elbows to sit against the bed frame. This is the second time Katniss and I have been in this position. She looks searchingly into my face, checking for the telltale signs of consciousness as she maintains a death grip on my shirt. She turns and pulls herself off of me as I wipe my face with a corner of the crumpled sheet.

"What the hell just happened?" I ask, not sure how she ended up in here, crouching above me to wake me up.

"You were screaming my name in your sleep," she explains. "I think you had a nightmare. And I was in it," she says in a small voice and sits at the end of my bed, her back facing me. That's when it all makes sense.

"Yeah," I say, "I heard you calling out for me but I couldn't find you… and I thought you were hurt. But then –" I can't finish the sentence. It's too horrible. I can't say the words I thought were true.

"What?" she asks, now facing me, her grey eyes begging to know.

I can't say it. I can't tell her. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and walk to the window, opening the thick, dark curtains to reveal an already risen sun. Light streams into my room, forcing me to squint. I turn towards her expectant face and mutter, "Nothing," because it's not too far from the truth. I thought my life was nothing after what happened next.

I find Haymitch at the breakfast table, stone cold sober, eating bacon and blueberries while watching Caesar Flickerman talk about the training scores again that he announced last night.

"District 12 may have been invisible on their chariots when they first arrived, but the Gamemakers have certainly seen them as rising stars in their training sessions," he says in an overly enthusiastic voice, baring snow-white teeth in an impossibly wide smile. "Katniss Everdeen received a modest 9, while Peeta Mellark received an impressive 11. This is the first time since our second Quarter Quell that a District 12 tribute has outscored all of the other districts. Keep in mind that was the year that very tribute, Haymitch Abernathy, was crowned victor. Needless to say, this year's Hunger Games promises to be interesting! Who knows what to expect?"

Haymitch shuts off the television and turns back to the table, just noticing my presence. He smiles at me and says, "Hey 11. How did you sleep?" I don't catch any sarcasm in his question, so I guess he didn't hear me screaming. Only Katniss was close enough to hear.

"Fine," I answer vaguely, not wanting to disclose what really happened before I woke up.

"Effie and I will be working with you and Katniss today," he says. "The interviews are tonight, so she'll teach manners and I'm going to help you both find an angle. Who would you like to speak to first?" he asks, giving me the choice rather than Katniss. Something is bizarre about this conversation. Haymitch seems very… pleasant, which is unusual for him. He's always drunk and rude. But then it hits me. Haymitch hasn't had a drop of alcohol for over a week, not since I made a comment to him about acting like a responsible mentor. A rush of gratitude courses through me, because I know that Haymitch has realized how he needs to act to get one of us home alive.

"I don't think I can handle Effie Trinket this early in the morning," I say, wanting to spend the morning with him because I suddenly understand what he's going through to help Katniss and I. I sit down to the assortment of food covering the table and ask, "What have you got for me?"

Haymitch sits back and brings a mug of herbal tea to his lips. The slight shake in his hands ceases and he lets out a sigh of pleasure. _Of course, _I think to myself. _He's been drinking tea nonstop. It's what replaces his alcohol. It's what makes him feel better. _"Well," he begins, "how do you want the Capitol citizens to see you? What angle do you want to play?"

I think hard about his question. I don't really know what I could be convincing at other than myself. I'm sure I could pull off some sort of act, but I doubt it would be good enough to make me more noticeable than the other tributes. "I've got an idea. And it wouldn't even be an act," Haymitch comments as he smiles mysteriously.

"And what's that?" I ask, intrigued to hear what he has thought up for me.

"Hopeless romantic."

I raise my eyebrows in humorous confusion, my forehead crinkling up. "Hopeless romantic?" I query, amused that he thinks of me this way. "Who would be my lover?"

He looks at me like I'm an idiot. "Well, Katniss, of course."

I turn to the side quickly and spit my orange juice out, spraying the other chairs with a fruity mist. "Excuse me?"

"Oh, come on, Peeta. I see how you look at her. You're in love with the girl. It's a miracle she hasn't realized it yet." I look at him with gained wisdom in my eyes, knowing I cannot deny him. I bow my head in accordance because I know what he wants me to do. "So let's start then. I'll ask you questions Caesar might ask, and you just answer me how you would if you were up on stage. Remember your angle," he explains, but we both know I won't have to act to get this angle right. At that moment, Katniss walks in, stares blankly towards the table full of food, wordlessly fills a plate for breakfast, and turns to walk out. She knows that Haymitch and I were about to practice for my interview so she was probably going to eat alone on the couch in the living room, but I stand and grab her by the arm gently.

"You can stay in here for breakfast. Haymitch and I were just leaving." I stand and glare at Haymitch until he copies my actions, following me out the door to his room. Effie enters as we exit, and for once I am thankful for the grotesque woman's presence because it means Katniss will not have to eat in solitude, although I have a feeling she's contemplating if she would rather eat alone or with Effie.

Haymitch and I go back and forth in his room for three straight hours as he questions me and I give my best answers, the ones that would create my romantic angle. He, in turn, critiques each of my answers, and explains what exactly I should and should not say. Soon, it's time for lunch, in which all four of us convene to eat and trade teachers. This is the time I've been dreading, because I know that I'll be sent off to spend three more hours with Effie as she meticulously combs through each and every habit I must remember not to do and which I would be mistaken to omit.

I am relieved when it is finally time to leave to be cleaned and prepared for the interviews. Being in pain as my prep team goes to work on every inch of my body is far better than talking to Effie Trinket about manners. Plus, I'm excited to see Portia and what she has planned for the two of us tonight.

Apparently, the procedures for preparing me to go onstage are not as invasive as the last time I saw my prep team. I had just arrived the day before, fresh from a poor district where I'd never paid special attention to hygiene or looking presentable. This time, my nails are already clean and only need a trim, my hair does not need a special formula, and my body is clean from the many showers I've taken here. I lay on a bed alone with a paper sheet covering me after being cleansed and readied, thinking about what I'm supposed to do tonight. I know that Katniss will not have been alerted about what I'm planning on saying about her tonight; Haymitch explained that the cameras will be trained on her the second I reveal her as the one I love, and apparently she cannot act for her life, so it must be the first time she's hearing of this or her reaction will appear fake.

Suddenly, I hear the heavy door open and slam shut, revealing Portia and her frizzy blonde curls, her long eyelashes, and the pink eye shadow that reaches up to her shaped eyebrows. I don't mind that what I see is an outlandish being, because I know Portia to be different from the other Capitol freaks. She created our outfits with Cinna to leave a mark on the potential sponsors. They both wanted to make something that would not fit President Snow's standards, so we could stand out from the crowd and let others know we will not be overlooked.

I take the robe that Portia hands me and put it on quickly as she begins to brief me on my outfit for the night. "You've made your mark on these people, that's obvious, so now we're just going to play it a bit simpler and let your interview speak for itself," she says while grinning to herself, her eyes on a black garment bag on the counter. So she knows, too.

"Haymitch told you?" I ask, and she curtly nods while trying to contain the smile that threatens to spread across her whole face. I roll my eyes and accept the outfit she has handed me. There's a jet-black suit jacket and pants that look like pieces of coal, textured and crumbling, but the suit remains solid. The shirt on the inside reminds me of what was hidden under the shredding jumpsuits Katniss and I wore on the night of the chariots; it is completely covered in diamonds and catches the light on every angle, nearly blinding us both. I hug Portia briefly and thank her, then begin to dress myself, impressed by how comfortable the clothing is regardless of the complicated embellishments. This outfit is in no way simple. Although it has a subtle air to it, the suit is absolutely stunning and must have taken Cinna and Portia months to craft. Looking in the mirror, I can only imagine how beautiful Katniss must look.

My wonderment is answered when I emerge from my dressing room with Portia on my arm to see Katniss wearing head-to-toe diamonds. A floor-length dress covered in the gem cascades over her figure, hugging tight to her upper body but flowing loosely down her legs. A small patch of skin over the right side of her abdomen is revealed where the dress is a fine veil over her body, small jewels sparsely spread over the thin, transparent fabric. Long diamond sleeves cover her arms down to her wrists, but half of her left arm is robed in the same fabric that covers the right side of her stomach. Her hair is parted down the middle, and her long chestnut locks I always see in curls or braids are pin-straight. They fall in silky strands over her shoulders and back, which are mostly naked because the dress is strapless and dips low in the back. Small diamonds are stuck in wavelike patterns over the skin that is not covered by her dress, and her face is dusted with simple foundation that sparkles slightly when it catches the light.

My jaw drops to the floor. She is not pretty. She is not beautiful. She is as radiant as the sun. Before I can even manage a simple compliment, we are called over to wait in line for our interviews. The interviews have already started, but since we're from District 12, which goes last, we didn't have to get ready for quite awhile. The boy from District 8 just finished his interview, so it won't be long until Katniss and I are up. I think she comes to the same realization at the same time as me, because she starts to nervously look around and pace uncomfortably in the small area we're sequestered in. The District 11 tributes glance over at her, and in their eyes I can see the same nervousness that Katniss physically exudes. When the District 10 boy walks briskly to the stage after he's been called by the Peacekeepers surrounding us, she loses it. Her hands begin to shake and she pushes past the Peacekeepers to get some air, but I know if I don't go talk to her, she won't be returning. I excuse myself as well, and follow her down a hallway to a window overlooking a city that twinkles with light. Her hands are pressed up against the glass, and she leaves a foggy mark on it with each shallow breath.

"Katniss?" I whisper, not wanting to frighten her already fragile mentality. She spins quickly, her nerves clearly having taken over. She relaxes a bit when she sees it's me, but not even a friendly, familiar face can appease her now. I walk over to her slowly and grasp her left shoulder gently to steady her and revert her to reality. She softens under my touch, and I soothe, "Katniss, it's okay to be nervous right now. But you can't let it show when you get out there. I know how intimidating it looks, but Haymitch said Caesar is going try his best to help you with questions that are easy to answer so you don't have to worry about it. You're going to be fine, the Capitol people will love you."

"I just don't think I can go out there and do this. I don't even have an angle, Peeta. I hate this and I can't act to save my life. They're all going to hate me and I won't get sponsors and then I'm going to die in the Games!" She's on the verge of tears, and her despondency is eating away at me. I want so badly to help her but I'm struggling to find the right words.

"Katniss, listen to me," I begin, and I grab her other shoulder to hold her still in front of me. I look into her eyes and say firmly, "That audience is nothing but people. They're just people, okay? You are a beautiful, strong, amazing girl and no matter what they are going to love you. Just pretend you're talking to Prim or Cinna or even me, and it'll get easier, I promise. Let them see who you are and they will love you." A Peacekeeper rushes over to us, and tells us gruffly that we have to get back in line; Thresh from 11 is almost done. She seems frozen in place, so I walk close to her on her right and guide her by placing my left hand on the small of her back and holding her right hand in mine. Katniss leans against me, but when we get to the edge of the stage, she seems to have a newfound confidence, and pushes off of me, walking zealously onto the stage, a fake smile plastered over her blushing face.

Her interview passes all too quickly, and I hate to admit that she appears somewhat standoffish and antisocial. She answers questions with relatively terse responses, but Caesar obliges her by asking numerous questions. Katniss doesn't make a great impact on the crowd, but my interview will supply both of us with many willing sponsors.

Before I know it, Katniss is walking off stage with tears in her eyes that threaten to breach the barriers of her bottom lashes. I step in front of her and block her pathway to the same waiting area she just vacated so I can reassure her that the crowd loved her. I take her face gingerly in my hands and whisper only, "Katniss, you were great. Do not let yourself believe anything else." Then I am escorted to the stage by a Peacekeeper and enter the blinding light illuminating two circular white chairs, one with a ludicrously dressed Caesar Flickerman and the other left empty for me, the last tribute.

"Welcome, welcome, Peeta Mellark of District 12!" he yells as the Capitol audience shouts and cries out for me. I suddenly remember myself and coat my face in feigned excitement and happiness then take my place next to him in the swivel chair that Effie warned me not to move around in.

"So, Peeta, what do you think of the Capitol?" Caesar asks as soon as the crowd quiets.

A bright, fake smile adorns my face, any traces of nervousness or worry erased. "It's incredible. I cannot believe all these amazing people and the unlimited beauty that encapsulates this glorious city," I enunciate, trying to use any outlets I have to make sponsors out of the impressionable Capitol citizens. I can almost hear Haymitch critiquing me. _Good answer. Lay off the big words. Makes you sound pretentious. _

"What would you say is the best thing the Capitol has to offer?" Caesar asks, interrupting my thoughts about someone I'd much rather be talking to right now.

I am too quick to respond with untraceably artificial enthusiasm, "Besides the beautiful people that populate it?" I ask, laughing at my own answer as the crowd cheers and Caesar smiles widely. "I'd have to say I enjoy the view the most. When I first came here on the train, I looked out to see this gorgeous landscape with incredibly tall buildings and all I could think was how excited I was to stay in such a beautiful place."

It's ridiculous that all of these people are entranced by the show I'm putting on, and it amuses me how fallacious all of this is. It only scares me how easily I can go along with it. "And what would you say is the best thing you have to offer, as a tribute in these Games?"

"Well, Caesar," I drawl, "I fight to the end for what matters most to me, and I think that will help me get what I want from these Games," I say, hoping he asks what that is, because it would be a good way for me to dive into my feelings for Katniss. To my delight, he asks about something even easier to answer from my angle.

"Have you got a special someone waiting for you at home that you want to win this for?"

"Well, I've got family and friends waiting for me at home, yes, but no special someone waiting there for me." I feel a pang of guilt when I realize Madge is at home waiting, probably heartbroken that I could say that. But I know now that there is no future for us, because I just love Katniss too much. Loving her is like breathing air; it would kill me to stop.

"So you don't have a girlfriend of any kind? A girl you like?" he presses, shocked that I wouldn't have a girl on my mind I want to return to. My blood pounds in my ears and my breathing quickens, because I know what I'm about to say, not in the presence of whom I want to say it to.

"No, it's not that," I explain, readying myself to reveal to an entire nation what I never felt I could say to Katniss. "I do like a girl, she's just not waiting back at home. And she definitely does not want me to win."

"Well why not? Where is she?" he questions, because he knows I would have no contact with outlying districts, so the only place I could meet a girl is at home in District 12, and if I had any kind of a girlfriend, she would want more than anything for me to return alive.

I take a deep breath and shift my gaze to the floor, wanting to let this moment continue for a long time, partially because I want to capture the audience's attention, and partially because I am scared out of my mind to say this when I know Katniss can hear. I unclasp my tightened hands, look straight into the camera, and say, "Somewhere backstage, because she just finished her interview."

"Well I'm sorry to hear that," Caesar remarks sincerely. "And she doesn't know?"

"She does now," I offer with a sad smile.

The buzzer marking the end of my interview sounds then, and as I look out over the crowd, I can see countless members of the audience wearing expressions of shock and sympathy, knowing that I cannot live out my life with the girl I've just named as my unknowing love. I stand, shake Caesar's hand, and thank him for having me, insisting it was a pleasure to be interviewed by him. These are all formalities Effie taught me, and for once I am thankful for her strictly enforced manners, because the crowd cheers wildly for me and I walk briskly off stage while waving as Caesar yells, "Give your best wishes to the star-crossed lovers of District 12, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark!"

As soon as I get off stage, I return to my dressing room but turn around to leave again when I remember I should talk to Katniss and apologize for leaving her in the dark. It's not that what I did will set her back in the Games. In fact, it's just the opposite; Capitol citizens will be highly inclined to send the Star-Crossed Lovers gifts, but I never even told her, so her interview almost seems like a waste. However, according to Haymitch, she's a terrible actress so she wouldn't have been able to pull it off anyway, but I want to apologize regardless.

Clearly Katniss does not agree with my reasoning because as I'm about to open my door to go talk to her, she barrels into the room, seething. Her furious eyes lock onto my own confused ones, and her stiff hands find my chest to shove me backwards into the wall with brute force that takes me completely by surprise. My back connects with the wall in a deep thud and the momentum of her push snaps my head back quickly so it clips the wall and releases a small wave of dull pain. Katniss' rage allows her to overpower me, adrenaline coursing through her body while I'm still shocked and trying to comprehend what's going on. I have no reason to defend myself from her, and I'm not entirely sure why she's mad that I made her look good, so I simply stand there. My mouth is slightly open and my eyes are wide with astonishment that could probably be mistaken for fear. Disbelief can be read all over my face, but hers is set in a look of disgust.

"What the fuck was that, Peeta? Using me to get a few sponsors who feel sorry for your stupid romantic act? You made me look like a weakling, just so you could put yourself ahead. How could you do that?" she spits at me, her words like venom that I allow to seep into me, taking the heavy metaphorical blow she's just dealt. She thrusts her hands forcefully into my chest where they've rested while she screamed at me in an effort to throw me even further into the unforgiving wall and pushes away from me. Suddenly, a deep cackle resonates from the corner and we both turn to the source of laughter; neither of us knew we were not alone.

"What do you want?" she snarls, but her misdirected anger only amuses Haymitch.

"Just to tell you that you shouldn't be mad at Peeta. I mean, be mad at me if anyone," he says simply before taking a sip of some steaming liquid in his mug. Tea.

"This was your idea?" she yells, suddenly not angry with just me. "So, what, then? Are you telling me you just picked one kid to try to get home? You figure I don't stand a chance, so you just put everything into him and make me look like an easy target? What kind of a sick person does that?"

"Certainly one that knew you'd get good publicity from this as well. You think he did this to hurt you?" He's yelling now, pointing a finger towards me from across the room. "You think he did this to make you look weak? Look around you," he says angrily, gesturing towards the televisions plastered across the walls that flash the Capitol citizens all screaming and raving over my performance. "He didn't do this to make you look bad and himself good. He did this to help the both of you. You looked like an antisocial freak that was bound to lose until he stepped up there and told everyone that he wants you. He made you look desirable, and now all of the sponsors out there are convinced he wants to make sure you get out of the Games alive. Most of their gifts will go to District 12 this year. Not even the Careers look good enough to send gifts to. Sweetheart, you're both golden." Then he approaches her slowly, his eyes searing into hers as he growls darkly, "I lived this. I think I know what I'm doing."

A bell goes off in my head. Haymitch is not himself when he thinks about his own Games, and for some reason I feel compelled to interject. "You've made your point, Haymitch. Besides, if she's still mad it's only because she's worried she'll die before she can tell her boyfriend she doesn't actually love me." I'm not sure why I'm so angry; I shouldn't be mad at her for loving someone else since I never even told her I'm in love with her. I'm still enraged because I know she doesn't love me and probably never will; she loves Darius. I've seen them together too many times to count, since she hangs around with him and her other Townie friends often. It's obvious that they're together, and very happy. At least, they were until she took Prim's place in the Games.

"He is _not_ my boyfriend," she hisses back, her eyes flaming again. I never thought it was possible for grey to look so fiery, but they look like they've burst into flames.

"Sweetheart, just the fact that you know who I'm talking about tells me that he is. Or at least that you're dating him."

"You bastard," she jeers, lunging for my throat, but I am too quick for her this time, grabbing her wrists roughly. "Don't patronize me. And whether he is or is not is none of your concern."

"It doesn't matter now anyway. I'm sure by now he's off with some other girl because he knows that you're not coming back to him!" I snarl at her, before I realize the depth in my words. Her eyes are an inferno, narrowed in anger, contrasting her mouth that hangs open in stunned silence. She snatches her right hand away from my grasp and twists her left to her side, my hand still wrapped around it. Katniss smacks me hard across the face and storms away to her dressing room. _Great, _I think to myself._ Now I not only managed to make an entire city believe a girl's in love with me, but I have also told her she's going to die and her boyfriend won't care. _

If Katniss and I leave this facility with the faintest trace of hatred for each other, nobody will buy our romance, which means we'll lose all of our sponsors and have no chance of winning. I barely hear Haymitch murmur, "Fix it," before I run out the door and into Katniss' room.

As soon as I enter, her face turns up to mine. She looks me in the eyes and angrily whispers, "Get out of here," striking me more deeply than a scream or slap would. I can almost hear the tears she's holding back. Instead of doing what she says, I walk over to her sitting on the couch and sit down a few feet away from her.

"Look, I'm sorry about what I said. You're going to go home. And Darius will be there waiting for you," I say, but the words taste like vinegar coming out of my mouth. I don't want him to be waiting for her because that means I can't have her, but at the same time I don't want her to be hurt by his absence.

"I'm not going home. I'm not trained or skilled enough. And Peeta, you have your family to take care of. If anyone's going to get home it's you. Even if you're not as strong or as fast or as ruthless as the Careers, you are going to get through. You're going to be thinking about getting home to your family the whole time and that alone will crown you victor. I don't want me to win. I want you to win."

"I bet you won't be saying that if we're the last two left," I smirk, hoping to make this conversation less tense.

My attempts backfire, because she quickly jerks her head toward me and says gravely, "Just promise if we … run into each other … that you'll make it quick."

I know what she's saying but it takes a moment for it to register. "What?" I breathe, taken aback, because the thought of ever harming Katniss makes me sick.

She's quick to respond to make sure I know what she means. "If you find me kill me fast. Don't drag it out like we've seen on TV before." She's talking about Careers in previous years. They always make a big show out of their kills, amused by the other tributes' pain.

"Katniss. I can't promise that," I say, my words almost a whisper.

She looks at me, frightened, and asks, "Why not?"

"I can't promise that because I can't kill you. I will not kill you," I answer.

She smiles before saying, "I bet you won't be saying that if we're the last two left."

This makes me grin and forget the serious conversation we're having. "Using my own words against me? I thought you'd be above that."

She shrugs and say, "It was a profound statement. Nobody can be humane when they're thrown into the Games. I think in the right situation you'd kill anybody, really."

My mind flashes to Gale and his siblings. My parents. My brothers. Katniss' little sister, whom I know she'd never be able to hurt. Instead of suggesting that, though, I just concede, and stare down at the floor. Then I remember what I came here to do, hoping the outcome will better our chances of keeping sponsors.

"Look, Katniss, I really am sorry about everything I said. And for what I did in the interview. It was a bad idea, especially without your consent. I –"

She cuts me off with a wave of her hand. "It's okay. It was a good way to get sponsors. I just think now we need to kind of… sell it." An involuntary grin threatens to spread across my entire face while my gaze shifts to her, but I simply raise an eyebrow so she can explain her meaning. Embarrassed, she looks into her lap and says, "There will be cameras everywhere. So when we leave, we can't just walk out like we have before. It has to be big. I'm not saying a big make out session that can be broadcast all over Panem, but we just have to… sell it, you know."

"Yeah," I concede vaguely, silently ecstatic for what I know this will entail.

When we're called downstairs to leave, we descend the stairs, ready to take on the cameras. They will be waiting outside our cars that will take us back to the suite, and it's in everyone's best interest to maintain the act they put on during their interview. That way, the Capitol sponsors won't get suspicious that we're pretending. Marvel and Glimmer will be smiling and waving as they prance across the carpet leading to their car, while Cato and Clove will walk fiercely and broodingly with their shoulders back and chests out in triumph. Thresh from 11 will walk with his fists clenched and eyes narrowed, and his district partner, Rue, will probably be skipping down the walkway, smiling and bouncing in her bright blue dress.

All of my predictions ring true, I realize, just as I come within mere feet of the front door of the complex to walk with Katniss down the runway. I've watched 22 other tributes waltz down the carpet in the exact fashion I expected, based on each of their interviews. Now it's our turn to make sure the crowd still loves our angles. At least, I have to make sure they believe Katniss has suddenly fallen in love with me. It's not an angle for me. I wonder if she knows that.

Katniss and I are standing just inside the complex, about to make our debut as the star-crossed lovers of District 12. As per request of the Peacekeepers standing next to us, we push open the doors and embark down the red carpet. I quickly grasp her right hand in my left and lean close to her ear to say something in encouragement, but promptly become intoxicated by the smell of her. I can faintly smell lavender soap from the freaky showers here, but even stronger is the smell of raw wilderness. Pine needles and rain and wood smoke flood my nostrils, the only thing I can think about until her hair brushing my nose rouses me from a trance. I whisper in her ear, "Don't be afraid. I promise I'll be here for you until the end." I look deeply into her eyes with the workings of a smile playing on my lips, trying to reassure her. I wonder if she knows I don't just mean the end of the night. She only glances down at our entwined fingers and nods, a smile pulling over her face. Together we stride down the long, slender carpet leading to our car, waving profusely to Capitol citizens who scream and cry out our names.

When we finally reach the sleek black limousine, I pull open the door, but as she's about to climb into the belly of the car, I grab her by the hips and pull her body closer to mine. With a constant smile plastered on her face, she hisses through her teeth, "What are you doing, Peeta?"

"I'm selling it," I reply, grinning. I slowly glide my right hand up from her hips until I reach the top of her spine, while my left rests on the small of her back. Realizing what I'm doing, she presses her body into mine, naturally knowing what to do. She looks innocently into my eyes, silently asking if this is right. Her hands rest on my chest, where they angrily shoved into me not an hour ago. My face turns into hers painfully slowly, and I turn my head to the right before closing my eyes and diving into a kiss. My lips connect with hers slowly at first, because I'm afraid any sudden movement might wake me from this dream. I find her bottom lip and focus on the taste of her mouth while caressing her upper back with my right hand. Her hands travel to the sensitive skin of my neck, and she gently runs her fingers through my hair, her hands balling up when she has fistfuls of my blond tresses. I pay attention to the kiss, finding a rhythm we can maintain together.

We pull apart all too soon, breathing heavily with our foreheads pressed together, blowing hot breath on each other's cheeks. My hands slide down her back and around her hips, and then I drift my left hand up to her right and guide her into the car. Haymitch and Effie are already sitting there, awaiting our arrival, so we slide into the two seats in the back of the car.

"Nice work, kids," Haymitch whispers, pleased. Effie just sits there, mortified by the public display of affection.

Katniss ducks her head in embarrassment, her cheeks flaming, and my forehead crinkles when I try to catch her eye. My mouth still hangs open slightly, in desperate need of more, but I know that I will probably never get the pleasure again. The Hunger Games start tomorrow.

Cameras will be awaiting our arrival at the suite, ready to capture the Star-Crossed Lovers immersed in passion during their final peaceful days together. They probably all expect Katniss and I to form an alliance from the start, but I've got bigger plans. The only problem will be convincing Katniss that we'd be better off if we didn't ally together. I have a plan for that, too.

The car ride back to the suite is not long, only fifteen minutes, but I somehow that's long enough for Katniss to fall asleep. It's been a long day, so her exhaustion was expected. The car is tall from ceiling to floor and long from front to back but extremely slender in width, so Katniss and I are close together, and the subtly carnal skin of her exposed shoulder gently touches mine. In that moment I curse the fabric of my shirt because although I can feel her touch through the thin button-down, I want to know the feel of her skin against my own. A sudden pang of despondency washes over me upon realizing that I am in love with a girl who sleeps within inches of me but who also will be forever out of my reach because I never professed my love to her when I could. Now that I have, she will only pretend to requite those feelings until one or both of us dies in the Games within the next few weeks.

I put my ominous thoughts at bay to prepare for the cameras that will plaster our images across Panem shortly, and glance through the darkened glass of the window to my right, where our complex is coming into view. The car jerks to a stop behind the other limousines, and Katniss' head lolls onto my shoulder. As a reflex, my head turns slightly to look down at her, although I'm careful not to disturb her. She looks so perfect when she sleeps. Her eyelids float over her eyes, not scrunched up or fluttering. The ghost of a smile adorns her lips, not spread across her whole face, but visible enough. A dark brown lock of hair falls over the flawless skin of her cheeks, and I quickly reach up to pull the curly wisp behind her ear.

Before I know it, there are no more limousines in front of ours, and Effie and Haymitch are emerging from the car onto the carpet that leads to the front door of the complex. Haymitch catches my eye while stepping out and whispers, "This is your last chance to make sure they remember you." I look down at Katniss, whom I completely forgot to wake up before we go back into the complex in front of dozens of cameras. Immediately I know what I should do.

After Haymitch and Effie have gone a few yards down the walkway, I slowly push Katniss' head so she faces forward instead of slumped onto my shoulder. Shifting my body left towards her, I drape her right arm over my shoulders and slide my right hand between her back and the seat. I'm grateful for the height of the vehicle because it's almost tall enough for me to stand, which makes it easier when I heft her body up, step out of the car, and close the door swiftly behind me with a kick of my left foot. Cameras are upon us, so I paste a large smile across my face, which isn't hard when I can pull Katniss' body up close to mine and pretend we will stay like this for a lifetime.

Camera flashes all but blind me but I maintain my expression of pure joy and affection for the girl in my arms, even when I'm inside the complex and riding the elevator towards our suite.

When I make it into the living area where Haymitch and Effie are captivated by the interview recap, they stare at me in disbelief. "Thought you were just going to wake her up when you got to the elevator, Loverboy," he ridicules.

"Yeah, yeah," I mumble, "just open her door, would you?" Years of climbing and archery have made my arms strong and brawny, so Katniss is not cumbersome in my arms, but I'm still unhinged by Haymitch's overtly slow saunter to come to my aid.

When he finally makes it to her bedroom at his rudely slow pace, he pulls open the heavy door and voices sarcastically, "There you go, valiant knight," before returning to his slumped position a few feet away from Effie on the large plush couch. His disheveled, sloppy manner clearly upsets her, based on the facial expressions she makes every time he lays lower on the couch or scratches himself. She herself still wears her stupid Capitol dress with perfection and sits rigid in what is meant to be a comfortable hangout because she's so worried about being proper and polite.

I simply shake my head at her and meander through the entrance over to Katniss' bed. There I fall to my knees to accommodate its low height, and place her on the soft linen. The blankets are pulled back on an angle, so it is easy to pull her legs beneath them after placing her down and then to cover her with the soft down of the 1200 thread count comforter. Her arm slides out from around my shoulders, but I catch it and place both limbs gently by her sides. The same lock of hair stubbornly flips over her visage, which appears delicate in her slumber. I tuck the strand behind her ear again, a gesture that would cross an unspoken boundary in her waking hours. My hand grazes her soft cheek but I know if I don't leave now I'll sit by her bed all night to witness her beauty in sleep, so I plant a small kiss on her rosy cheek and whisper only three words before leaving quietly.


	9. The Plan

I wave goodnight to Effie and Haymitch before shuffling into my room, exhausted. I don't even have the energy for a shower, so I just swap my clothes for comfortable pajamas and lay down atop the silky blankets. Regardless of my hour-long effort to go to bed, and the fatigue encompassing my body, sleep evades me, so I end up walking down the hall towards a large window that reaches from floor to ceiling overlooking the city. After all, I might as well get a last look at the wretched lace that I'll desperately want to return to tomorrow. Anyplace is better than the arena.

When I round the corner to stand in front of the window, I'm surprised to see Katniss there, sitting quietly on the floor with her knees bent in front of her and arms wrapped tightly around her legs. Her hair is tied in a braid that streams down the center of her back, an she has clearly changed out of the diamond dress I left her in when I tucked her into bed. I couldn't imagine taking that off for her and dressing her again. Even if she didn't wake up, I'd feel like I was violating her in some way. No, especially if she didn't wake up. Instead of that dress, she has on a sheer, silken shirt and patterned cotton shorts that expose her incredible toned legs. I stare in wonderment, because I was sure she was out cold for the night when I left her in her bed over an hour ago. Still, there she is, sitting right in front of me unaccompanied, and I cannot manage a simple coherent sentence.

"You too?" I blurt, stepping out from the shadows. Her confusion is evident when she whips her head around to stare at me. "Can't sleep?" I clarify. She nods in response as I walk over and sit down a safe distance from her. Katniss' face tightens a bit, but then relaxes, as if she is trying to force herself to be comfortable in my presence. Was it the kiss? The fact that I carried her all the way up here when I clearly did not have to go to such a length? The entire romantic act in general? I turn to look into her face, as if maybe it will answer my questions, but her unwaveringly solemn expression reveals nothing.

"Look, I'm sorry if… it was too sudden for you. I just wanted to make sure they believe it." Even if what I said was very vague and ambiguous, she immediately understands what I mean. Her head bobs up quickly and dark grey eyes sear into mine, offering no escape.

"It's fine," she says at a low volume, her voice cracking a bit. "I mean, if it gets us a couple more days to live, then you have to do it, right?" she asks rhetorically. I nod in response and she turns back to the window but I can't tear my eyes away from her She doesn't know it, but she has a stronger grip on me than President Snow does the tributes. Then I remember that I have to talk to her about our arrangement for the Games. I can't let her know about my alliance or she'll never trust me, so I swallow my fears and prepare to lie to her face.

"So I have a plan worked out for tomorrow," I begin.

"Oh, are you sure you want to let me in on your game plan? What if I turn around and stab you in the back?" she jokes, but I just chuckle at her and continue.

"No, it involves the whole Star-Crossed Lovers thing." We both become more serious, and I can tell she's listening intently, even though she just turned her head back to the window. "When we're around the Cornucopia, there will be cameras like crazy on all angles so just make sure you keep eye contact with me. Look… I don't know, like you're in love. And longing to stay with my Grab a backpack with supplies and maybe a weapon if you can, there's usually something useful next to each tribute's podium. Do not go near the Bloodbath. Then turn around and head straight into the forest, if there is one. Based on the tapes we've been watching, there will be. There's a repeating pattern with the arena's terrain. Next year will probably be a jungle with lots of water." She raises her eyebrows at me with fascination, intrigued by my logic. I need to make sure she understands the plan, though, so I press on.

"When you get there, just keep running. Get as far away from the Cornucopia as you can as fast as you can, because tributes might be coming after you. I will get myself a pack and weapon and follow you into the woods. It might take me awhile to get to you though, if I get held up or need to get away from someone else. But if I take more than two days, it probably means either I can't find you or I had to move in another direction. In that case, you should move on and worry about your own survival."

Katniss is stoic. She nods, and seems to be mentally picking apart the plan. After a long pause, she suggests, "If you can't find me for awhile and you need help, just get this really concerned face and make a big show of looking all upset while murmuring my name. You'll be guaranteed a parachute in three seconds flat." I nod and express my approval, but what she doesn't know is that I would probably end up doing that anyway, even though this isn't my real plan.

"You've really got this all figured out," she adds. She doesn't even know just how much I have planned out.

"Yeah, well, there isn't really a way to talk to you while we're in the arena, unless I'm right there with you or I send out obvious signals, so I thought I should get it all figured out beforehand. So we could stay a team." At her hesitation and worried stare, I inquire, "That is what you want, isn't it?" I'm a little afraid of her answer, so I tear my face away from her and suffer through the silence.

"Of course," she answers, giving me a rush of joy; moments ago I had myself convinced she dreaded being forced to partner with me. "I just want to be remembered as myself, you know?"

My heart sinks at this, but I know I can't keep myself believing she really want to be with me. "No, I get it. Trust me, if I make it back alive, I'll tell Darius that you –"

"Like I told you before, Peeta, I'm not with Darius. I never was. I just mean that I want people to remember me for who I was when I lived in District 12. I want to make the Capitol believe in the whole Star-Crossed Lovers thing for sponsors, but I just want Prim to know me as the strong and supportive sister I have been for her, not a hopeless and love-struck teenager," she orates.

"I know what you mean. We might be going into the Hunger Games, but I don't want this to change me. I don't want them to change me. Even if I'm going t be dead in a week, I want to die as myself, not as a murderer." A long pause of silence ensues as we absorb what be both now recognize as a major similarity between us. We both want to die as ourselves.

Suddenly, I realize a part she left out. "What about your mom?" I ask, knowing her dad died years ago of some obscure medical condition. She turns to me in confusion, unsure of my meaning. "You said you want Prim to remember you as yourself. How do you want your mom to remember you?" I ask.

Her eyes glaze over in an unreadable expression. For a moment I think she's going to withhold an explanation, but for some reason she turns her whole body to me and lays all her cards on the table. "My mother in complicated," she starts. "When my father… passed, she turned to alcohol to numb the pain. For her, drunk means angry, and angry means hitting. Never Prim, she was always taking care of her and cleaning up her messes when she blacked out. But I couldn't handle her being such an absent mother, so I constantly challenged her and go hit for it. Most of the time she was too drunk to actually hurt me so just pushed her away, but even if she didn't hurt me physically, she killed me mentally. She never gave Prim a support system and didn't take care of her. When she came to visit me, that's what I told her. Not to lay a hand on Prim. To shape up and really take care of her, since I won't be there to do it for her."

I crumble at her disclosure, because all this time I never even knew just how much Katniss was suffering. I wish I could numb the pain and mend her broken heart. I never knew we were in so similar a situation of caring for our families and having no parental support.

There are no words I can say to help her. Only my instincts propel me as I crawl over to her and wrap her body into mine. She seems taken aback but does not hesitate to return the embrace. Maybe it's because she's tired, or maybe it's because she doesn't care anymore. But I hang on the hope that she allows this to happen because somewhere inside her, she wants someone to heal her pain, and she finds that in me.

Her head falls onto my shoulder so the curve of her nose fits perfectly into the side of my neck, and her warm lips gently ghost over my collar bond, not there on purpose but still there. Her silky hair brushes my shoulder and forms a small shroud around my back. I almost feel guilty for relishing this moment before I realize that I'm simply making a kind gesture to a friend, and she is accepting it. This just feels so real, and so right.

"What about your parents?" she mumbles into my cotton shirt after sitting tucked into my body for a few minutes, breaking a profound silence. My eyes open immediately, and my head jerks up ever so slightly, because I'm almost frightened by the mention of the only two people I love and hate at the same time. She senses my discomfort and pulls back but maintains intense eye contact, even when I avert my gaze. "I'm sorry," she says as she turns her eyes away, earning a surprised glance from me. "This is tough for everyone. I shouldn't have said anything." She starts to pull away, but I don't want to stop being so close to her, so I quickly interject.

"No, it's okay. I just don't really have any way that I want them to remember me. Maybe if I had just said something to them… I don't know." I'm not making any sense here, I know, but I'm afraid of getting into an emotional conversation.

"Well what did you say to them?" she asks.

"When?"

"In the Justice Building. When they visited you after the Reaping. What did you tell them?"

It strikes a nerve, but I keep my face neutral and betray nothing before responding vaguely. "I didn't. They… didn't."

She blinks in disbelief, and her eyes grow dark as she whispers, "What?"

"Yeah. They didn't visit me." This is uncomfortable for me. I'm not used to emotional conversations. I don't like putting all of my feelings out on the line; it feels awkward and strange. I'm fine with talking about hunting or the weather or how many tesserae I should take out but this is new for me. Thankfully, though, she knows not to probe deeper. She simply whispers, "Oh, Peeta," gently to soothe my before rising to her knees in front of me and wrapping my head into the crook of her neck. My chin rests on the muscle connecting her neck to her left shoulder, and all I can smell is her deep woodsy aroma that lingers in her skin no matter how many Capitol showers she's taken. Underneath the lavender soap is home: forest and rain and grass. I am completely consumed by her. Katniss erases the pain.

When we pull apart, I catch a dreamy look in her eyes that I can only distinguish as sleepiness, so I stand and wordlessly walk her to her bedroom door. She saunters into the chamber, and turns to whisper, "Goodnight, see you in the arena," before giving me a kiss on the cheek and softly closing the door.

I fall asleep easily as soon as I crawl into bed, regardless of my impending doom. I'm in a trance.


	10. The 74th Annual Hunger Games

**This chapter. Took so long. To write. Sorry for not updating for … forever … I know I've gotten a lot more followers in the past couple months (which makes me really excited, THANK YOU) and a few people PM'd me asking if I forgot about the story or what. Sorry for that whole period of nothing new. I promise, I won't forget about this! Junior year just sucks right now, and I have so much school work plus field hockey every day, so trust me I'm trying my best to give you the best work I can! I hope y'all like this chapter **

I awake to a start when the sun has just begun to toss beams of light over the horizon, barely lighting the sky and still not visible. I'm terrified and shaking, but this time I know I'm really awake, because the world doesn't seem far away. When I dream, everything is fuzzy around the edges and strangely shiny. This feels real, and I have a strange sense that the events of my nightmare aren't completely fabricated.

The grogginess of morning surrounds me and threatens to push me back into a slumber, but images from my nightmare swirl through my head, and I can only lay there on my bed, paralyzed with fear. A shrill scream invades my ears to rouse me and I cringe in response. This is exactly what I was afraid of.

Immediately adrenaline fills my blood and my muscles tense as I leap out the door and sprint towards the source of the noise. My instincts lead me to Katniss' bedroom, where I throw the door open and enter the chamber.

There she is, lying on her bed in the same shorts and tank top she was wearing last night. The shirt drifts up her stomach slightly, baring a strangely sensual section of her midriff. She's on her back with her hands clenching fistfuls of the sheets, and even though her head is turned away from me I can tell her face is twisted in pain. The yelling has decreased in volume, but she is still clearly enduring a horrific nightmare. I rush over to her bedside and shake her while calling out her name.

Suddenly, she jolts awake and rolls over to grab me by the neck, her dark grey eyes coming into focus on my soft blue ones. I am momentarily choked but unable to remove her hands from my throat. Katniss loosens her grip when she realizes it's me, but her hands still rest in their spot as she tries to understand what's going on.

"You were having a nightmare," I whisper after a brief glance to her fingers still surrounding my neck.

"I know," she says back in the softest voice I've ever heard her use. "Cato… the District 2 boy you fought… he was about to… he had a… he was going to…"

"Shhh," I soothe, leaning my face closer and slowly trailing my hands around her in a comforting embrace. "Cato won't touch you. I won't let him, I promise." Her body shifts up, welcoming the hug I offered, so I take this moment of vulnerability and push myself up onto the bed next to her to hold her closer.

What feels like only moments later, I wake up again in Katniss' bed cradling her in my arms. Her head rests on my right shoulder, and since she is turned towards me, our faces are mere centimeters apart. Her body is coiled up and pressed against me, but I lay flat because it feels like I'd never let go if I entwined myself with her. Her lips curl up at the edges in sleep, and I have an insatiable urge to bring my own to hers and close the gap I always feel between us, but I won't let myself.

My instincts tell me that it's just an hour past daybreak, and maybe Katniss senses this too because I hear a sharp, deep intake of breath and see her eyelids fluttering slightly, obvious signs that she's waking.

All of a sudden, she shoots up from my embrace, and a rush of cold air where she used to be reminds me of the wedge set between us that I wish I could remove. "Sorry," she manages as her cheeks redden in embarrassment and shock sets in over her features. Ironically, she apologized for something I only wanted to continue doing.

"It's fine," I articulate as I climb off her bed slowly, maintaining her eye contact the whole time in a subconscious effort to transfer a deeper meaning. _Please come back to me. _"Close contact will probably make it easier anyway. You know, for the cameras in the arena." I shove my hands in my pockets and stare down at the ground when she nods in response, unsure of what I should say. After a pause, I suggest breakfast with a gesture towards her door, no words necessary. She nods back silently again and we make our way to the dining hall so Haymitch can give us last minute advice and encourage us to eat as much as possible since it won't be as easy to get food in the arena today.

Little other conversation ensues over breakfast other than Effie's futile attempts at small talk. Before I'm completely aware of it, Katniss, Haymitch, and I are on the elevator in another building heading towards the hovercraft that will take us to the arena. My stomach churns in anticipation for the Games, even if I know I'll be guaranteed temporary protection from the Careers. It's not myself I'm worried about.

Haymitch lists off more advice he's been going over for the past few weeks already, and gives us both meaningful hugs when it's time to depart. "Stay alive," he offers with a bittersweet smile, and Katniss and I march headstrong towards the hovercraft.

As soon as we board, Peacekeepers push us into seats next to each other, and Seneca Crane himself walks from one end to the other with a threateningly large needle. Each tribute winces in pain when he administers some flashing metal piece into their arms, and when he asks for my arm, I hesitate.

"What is that?" I demand. Instead of answering immediately, he grabs me by the wrist and forces the needle painfully into my arm. It stings and pulls my skin taut, and I'm relieved when he pulls the syringe out.

"It's your tracker. It tells us where you are and if you're dead," he explains while pulling a new syringe out of his jacket. He makes searing eye contact with me before saying in a hushed tone, "If it can't register a pulse or if it gets destroyed, it means you're dead." I nod back at him slightly and he pauses before moving on to Katniss. She looks at me with brows furrowed in question, but I shrug back, unable to comprehend what he meant by his intense explanation, and mouth, _I don't know._

That is the last image I have to remember of her, because afterward everyone goes into their stylists' quarters underneath the arena to get dressed. My meeting with Portia is brief. Standing there, I feel like I'm watching the scene from somewhere else, like I'm not in my own body. I watch myself embrace Portia after she helps me into my Gortex jacket, and enter the glass tube. My hands press up against the clear tube and the heat from my palms and breath fog the glass while I ascend into the arena.

The countdown begins at 60 seconds. _This is not real, _I tell myself. _This is a dream, _my mind rationalizes. If I pinch myself, will I wake up?

52. A sickening feeling takes over my lower abdomen, from where it feels like adrenaline is pumping to my entire body. I frantically search each pedestal for Katniss, but I can't find her. The enormous golden Cornucopia that stands in the center all the podiums blocks her from my view, but I desperately want to see her, to look for strength or to lend my own.

45. Looking across the arena, I see Clove, the vicious District 2 girl with the knives, and Glimmer, the District 1 girl, directly next to the two spaces Katniss must be, and my heart sinks. By this evening, Katniss could be lost and bled white at the hands of a pretty blonde and a malicious black-haired girl coming at her from both angles. They're in the Career alliance I agreed to join, and they think I joined to help them find the girl they want to kill for one-upping them in training. What would stop them?

38. Next to me are little Rue and the broad-shouldered Thresh that I wrestled in training, both from 11. The little 12-year old looks so small standing on her pedestal, and even younger than she really is when I see the fear in her face. Thresh is on the other side, and I can admit I'm very intimidated by him. If he kills me, I can't provide any protection to Katniss.

30. For the first time, I look towards the Cornucopia to see the weapons and supplies. As if by instinct, I immediately spot two bows and quivers that almost beg me to take them. What if I just took them and ran for Katniss? A quick glance to my right nullifies that option; there are 4 Careers – Dorian and Orabel from 4, Marvel from 1, and Cato from 2 – to Thresh's right who would immediately recognize me as a traitor and come after me.

18. Surrounding me are dead children. They might as well be dead, anyway. 23 of these kids, possibly including me, will be dead within the next few weeks. It's repulsive. It's difficult to comprehend. It's the Capitol's fault.

12. I wonder where Gale is right now. Maybe he's in front of the Justice Building, watching me on the giant television, hoping and praying that I come home alive. Maybe he's at home watching with Rory, Vick, Posy, and Hazelle. Maybe he's in the woods trying not to imagine that I won't return.

5. Shake it off.

4. Try to forget it.

3. Survive.

2. Protect yourself.

1. Protect Katniss.

Let the 74th Hunger Games begin.


	11. The Bloodbath

**It's a miracle. I was so excited to keep writing that POOF another chapter shot out of me… similar to Megan's bathroom incident in Bridesmaids. Explosively and all at once.**

**IT'S COMING OUT OF ME LIKE LAVA**

I automatically jump off my pedestal in one long leap and lunge for the first backpack I see. At first, I am dazed and clueless. This all feels wrong. I glance towards Thresh, who seems momentarily confused. He notices me looking over and with surprisingly scared eyes, begins to run into the Cornucopia. My legs pump fast, trying to get to that bow before I'm met by an attacker. I wasn't closest to the mouth of the Cornucopia; Cato was, and Thresh had a small head start. And yet I enter and am able to snatch up a few weapons, including the bow and quiver, before either reaches it.

"Throw me that sword!" he barks, and I do as he says unwillingly, because although I know he'll be using it to slaughter someone, I know that if I don't he'll be suspicious and might even target me. As soon as he gets the sword, he turns and runs toward Daisy, the girl from 10, who is slower and unable to evade the lethal end of the weapon. Birley, her district partner, meets the same fate. At the same time, Thresh grabs a large sickle that he's probably used to using, since he comes from District 11. He reaches out warily for other packs closer to me, but regardless of what Cato told me, I'm not going to attack him for trying to get Cornucopia loot.

"Go ahead, Thresh, I'm not one of them," I say under my breath while lunging for a bow. He runs away before it would be possible for me to get a clear shot at him, so Clove, Marvel, Dorian, and Orabel are not suspicious when they arrive to get weapons. Three of them linger to find the best weapons, but the 2 girl is out of there fast with a set of knives, ready to kill. Her green eyes match the daggers she's holding as she locks Katniss into her lethal radar.

I have to act fast. "Clove!" She spins around quickly, her bubble ponytail swinging around. "Let me get her later!" I yell just loud enough for Clove to hear and quiet enough so Katniss doesn't. She raises her eyebrows at me in ridicule and gains an evil glare when she turns around. She's after Katniss.

That's not the only problem – Avenall, the boy from 9, is standing over Katniss with a large rock, ready to strike, and I'm about to run to her aid when suddenly a knife comes out of nowhere, right through the back of his neck. Kill shot by Clove. And another to Piers, the boy from 6, who apparently couldn't get out of Clove's way.

Those two tributes serve as distraction enough for Katniss to gather her bearings, but Clove grips another shining knife, and suddenly all the action seems to slow. I'm tunnel visioning towards Katniss and Clove, but I can feel a disturbance behind me; Alice from 3 and Capala from 5 are gathering supplies. Clove's blade sparkles in the sun as she reaches back in a windup. _Move, Katniss! Move! _My mind screams. I pull back an arrow and am about to send it flying to kill Clove, but I'm so jumbled and can't think fast enough.

_Lub-dub. Lub-dub. Lub-dub. _All I can hear is pounding in my ears, my heart threatening to explode. It feels like the end. It feels like this is all that's left of both Katniss and I. I've seen Clove throw knives. She never misses.

She never misses. And she doesn't miss her target. The knife punctures exactly where Clove aimed, and my knees go weak, my stomach drops, and I almost let my weapon fall to the ground. That is, until I realize Katniss pulled her backpack up to shield herself, and is now running away with her life and a new knife. _Thank you. Thank you._

"Let's go for that little 12 year old," I hear Marvel say, and Dorian grins back at him as they run towards Rue, who cowers over a large backpack she no doubt intends to bring with her. Marvel takes the lead and raises his spear for the kill. My instincts kick in, and I force myself between the two large boys and Rue.

"Don't!" I yell just before they attack her.

"What the fuck, Peeta?" they scream as Rue shields herself with the pack.

"Guys, she's useful. Have you seen her in training? Most of the stuff here in the Cornucopia is weaponry. We need somebody to help us find food," I remark, even though I know I'd be able to hunt for enough food to feed all the tributes in the arena. Dorian glances at Marvel, who nods assent, and they run away towards other tributes to make another kill, but it seems almost everyone is gone, and they'll have to venture into the forest to see if anyone is lingering.

Rue looks up at me with the biggest eyes, so I help her up and we both go into the Cornucopia. Cato ordered me to guard it, so I just have to stand here with my bow at the ready and act like I'm securing our loot from other tributes. However, with no other tributes in close enough proximity, I have the chance to look around and survey the area while Rue sits inside, hidden from everyone else. Darwin, the boy from 3, is already sheltering himself there, and was probably horrified when I left to protect Rue. He made an agreement with the Career pack too. As long as he guards their camp, they won't kill him. For awhile, anyway.

My stomach turns over when I notice the District 8 boy and District 9 girl, Paisley and Abilene, who lie on the ground spewing blood and dying right next to each other. Abilene's long ponytail is becoming drenched in blood from a gaping wound in her head as she murmurs, "Make it stop… make it stop… make it stop," and Paisley, who has probably never met her, offers his bloodied right hand while he holds his entrails inside himself with the left. "I can't do it," he mumbles, blood trailing from his mouth down his throat as he looks around him.

Looks around him for someone who will take them out of their misery, I realize a moment later. I look back for a moment to make sure Rue and Darwin are okay, and then run towards the two kids dying on the battlefield. _How twisted is that?_ I kneel between them, and they both flinch, obviously still clinging to some semblance of survival instincts. I hold Abilene's other hand while I talk them into death.

I whisper in a soothing voice, "My name is Peeta. You're from 8 and 9 right?" It feels wrong though; they should listen to something beautiful as they die. I don't know what to say, so I start with what I know.

"I'm from 12. We have a lot of coal there. Sometimes miners find diamonds in there, because when you put a lot of pressure on coal, that's what it turns into. My brothers found one once and they brought it home for me. It was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. It's like a rock, but instead of looking grey like the way the horizon looks on a foggy morning, or brown like brush in a forest, it's see-through and shines like billions of stars all pushed into one little space." They're both starting to become distant so I know I just have to keep talking until the end.

"And when the sun shines on it, it turns into all kinds of colors, reflecting this beautiful rainbow. I once tried to paint a rainbow, but I could never get it right. It's there one second and then the next it's gone. It's like an illusion. The colors all fade together and mingle into one big strip of color. But then you look again and the mist that makes it show up is gone."

Abilene's face is plastered in tears. Paisley's has glazed over, but I noticed that about 10 seconds ago. He's gone. I focus solely on Abilene and wipe the salty tears from her face with a soft brush of my thumbs. She sighs and falls victim to the Hunger Games.

By now, all that's left of the center of the arena are the dead bodies, empty pedestals, the Cornucopia, and the Career pack. Thankfully, they haven't been paying attention enough to notice my heartfelt sentiments and softness, so none of them know what I was just doing.

"The area's clear," I casually remark as I walk over. "Nothing left but dead bodies." The words stick in my throat but I manage them.

A moment later, Glimmer skips over to me with a dumb smirk on her face. Her demeanor is out of a dream, because regardless of the killing spree going on around us, she appears to be out on a Sunday stroll rather than fighting for her life.

"Who'd you get, Peeta?" she sing-songs.

I raise my eyebrows slightly in mockery, but she doesn't seem to understand that she's acting ridiculous given the situation. "Abilene and Paisley," I say, pointing with my thumb behind me.

"I got two little brats, from 6 and 9, I think," Clove adds.

"Cato and I got both from 10," Orabel says with a wicked smile as she wraps her right arm around Cato's left, "but he did most of the work." Cato laughs a little and smiles at her while Clove fumes.

Clove is quick to shoot back at Orabel, "You're not going to get very far if you can only kill when that brute helps you," and then walk away. I'm surprised that Cato seems genuinely hurt, although, like Clove, he conceals his emotions fairly well.

Clove herself is trying to shield her jealousy, but I can read her easily. I wonder what they were back in 2. Training partners? Friends? A couple?

_Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom._

Curse the Capitol.


	12. Night Hunting

Cato kicks me awake late at night during his night watch. "Wake up Clove. We're going night hunting for your little girlfriend," he says with a sickening grin. Before he goes to wake Glimmer, he adds with intriguing neutrality, "Take away her knife first or she'll kill you before you can say 'Get up.'"

I heed his warning, naturally, and slide her weapon out of her hand before shaking her gently. "Clove, wake up," I whisper. Her eyes open slowly and she almost looks sweet in her dream-like state. As soon as she hears Cato's voice waking up the others, they become dark and jaded.

"Get off me, Loverboy," she snarls, and grabs the knife out of my hand.

As soon as everyone's awake, we gather our weapons and leave Rue and Darwin to guard the camp. They're pretty useless in terms of fighting, so it doesn't really make sense leaving them there alone as guards and bringing the entire Career pack on the expedition to kill "the invisible girl," but Cato decides it's a good idea, and it's clear that he's the leader of the group, so nobody else questions it.

"Alright, Loverboy. Where would she have gone?" Cato demands. The rest of the Careers stare at me, expecting me to immediately divine where she is. Based on where her podium is, I can tell where exactly she went according to my plan. If she listened to my instructions, she would have gone straight into the forest and gone in as straight a line as possible as far as she could before stopping to rest in a tree. I make up a quick lie on the spot and hope they don't see through it.

"She's not stupid. She wouldn't have gone out of her way to get into the forest, but she probably knows you'll be tracking her. She's right hand dominant, so she would have headed into the forest straight and then veered right, and gone diagonally up the mountain. I'd guess she's somewhere around there," I lie, pointing miles away from where she really is, based on where I told her to go.

They all continue to stare at me, but I maintain a straight face and look at Cato for the game plan. He just nods his head and says, "Okay," then turns towards the forest without even ordering us to follow. He's clearly the leader, so he just expects we do as he does.

All goes smoothly when we're in the forest; there are no traces of Katniss other than the tracks I pretend to see and follow intently. The pack is completely convinced by all of my feigned insight; I pretend to come upon something that will lead towards Katniss, and follow it even further to the right, away from where I know Katniss would have gone. Unless…

What if she had to move in a different direction, because someone was attacking her? Because she needed to find food or water? Because the Gamemakers sent a mutt after her? I think my worries are proved to be true, because all of a sudden, Cato leads us quietly in the direction of a girl sitting alone by a fire about 100 yards away. My stomach drops, but I follow closely behind Cato, who leads us silently towards her. My breathing quickens, and my mind swirls. Could it be Katniss? Or some dim-witted girl stupid enough to light a fire in the middle of the night? Surely Katniss wouldn't have done this. I hope she would know better than to attract so much attention to herself.

When we come within 10 yards of her, I am relieved to see it's not her – I can tell because even though she's sitting down, she's obviously too short and stout to be Katniss. And her hair isn't braided over her right shoulder; it's wavy and left down. It's Saxony, the girl from 8, Paisley's district partner. I'm left with the thought, though, of what they're going to do to her. Cato speaks up first, the whole pack gathered just behind her. _Get up! Run! _My mind screams. But I can't. I'm powerless.

"What do we have here?" he leers into her frightened face. Her eyes grow wide as she realizes she's met her doom, and she's about to lose the Hunger Games in the most painful way possible. Cato pulls his sword in front of her and stabs her quickly in the stomach, laughing at her shrill scream that pierces through the arena. She lays on the ground, dying, when the pack begins to run away at a faster pace, Cato joking with Orabel about how terrified she looked. "Wait a second," he says, stopping in his tracks. "Shouldn't we have heard a cannon by now?" The rest of them look around and start to head back, but I don't want her to die that way.

"I'll handle it," I volunteer, drawing attention to myself accidentally.

Cato looks at the others. "Okay. You sure she went this way?" he asks, gesturing towards where I directed them before.

"Yeah," I lie. "I saw a snare back there, and I think it was hers. She's probably hunting out there right now. Go ahead, I'll catch up." My face betrays nothing as he stares me down, but all I think is, _She's actually probably hidden away in the trees from you people._

I head back to where we found Saxony, and she's still lying there, suffering. When she hears me coming, she whimpers and moans, trying to kick away from me.

"It's okay, Saxony. I'm a friend. I'm Peeta, from 12," I soothe as I kneel next to her. I pull my jacket off and fold it up, then gently tuck it under her head. I can tell her wound is too deep to heal, and if the Careers don't hear the cannon they'll kill her anyway. I simply hold her hand and brush hair away from her face while I try to coax her into her death. "You're from 8, right?" I ask. She makes a noise that sounds like "uh-huh," and lets out a few small cries, to which I respond with a comforting "shhhh," and brush tears from her cheek. "I'm sorry they did this to you. I'm so sorry." _I could have stopped it. I could have done something._

_Start with something simple, something simple._ I think to myself. _Make her death easy and maybe you'll be forgiven._

"Remember waking up this morning?" I ask, and she nods at me, her eyes trained on mine. "You know that moment when you're about to wake up but you're still asleep, and you feel like you're in between dream land and reality? I think that's my favorite part of the day, because anything can happen in a dream, you can be anyone you want to and it doesn't matter if it's plausible or not because it's not real. You feel like you're coming into consciousness, but you're still asleep. You're aware of who you are, but at the same time, you still have the comfort and beauty of complete peace."

She's starting to drift off, so I just keep talking. "It's the most beautiful moment of the day, when you're in between asleep and awake, and even though you're about to get up and force yourself to go through your daily routine, you still have that calm of knowing everything is perfect and tranquil. It's a blur because you might not remember it later, but it's always there." Finally her eyes fog over and I know she's put out of her misery. I close her eyes, remove my jacket from underneath her head, and walk away towards the other Careers.

_Boom._

At a face-paced run, I know can catch up to them in minutes, and my agility gained from years of hiking through the forest makes that easy. When I'm about 200 yards away from Saxony, I hear a sound up in the trees. When I look up, I see her. It's dark, but the moon lights her face. Her visage only reads, _How could you do this to me? How could you betray me? How could you lie to me?_ I want to explain, but it's too late. She's curled around the other side of the tree and she probably won't listen to anything I say, even though I just want to explain that I was trying to protect her. Katniss, the love of my life, will never trust me again, but I have no choice but to turn away and find the rest of the Career pack.

When I catch up, closely following their tracks, Cato barks at me, "Did you get her?"

"Yeah, Saxony's dead."

"What the hell took so long?"

"I did something… a little special for the audience. Have you seen Katniss?"

Cato sneers, clearly pleased because he thinks I mean that I made her death painful and gruesome. "Not once. Are you sure we're heading towards her?"

"Positive. Let's just keep looking. I think I saw another snare back there, so we're probably getting closer." Cato eyes me suspiciously, but continues.

We keep searching for Katniss for what feels like hours, and then make camp finally in the middle of the woods. I fall asleep wondering if she'll ever forgive me before I die for her.


	13. The Compass

**Hello muffins. Well I've gotten a few more readers, on this story and the other ones I've written, so yay! MERRY CHRISTMAS and enjoy this chapter. It's taken quite awhile but tonight I dressed up in my dark green jeans, black tshirt, brown lace-up boots, and my new leather jacket and Mockingjay pin, which put me in a mood to fanfic for hours! *psychotic laugh* Katniss Everdeen and you're all welcome and I'm fabulous and that is all. *meow* - my cat says hi, #singlegirlprobs**

**If anyone's wondering (which you're not) I got this perfect navy blue Tommy Hilfiger blazer and a pair of ice skates among other glorious things, so I'm going to be fabulous and enjoy the winter season too! Hot chocolate for everyone. My nails are sparkly. K cool done now.**

We're still searching when the dead tributes flash across the sky. The Capitol anthem plays and dead faces flash across the midnight blue. Piers from 6. Paisley and Saxony from 8. Avenall and Abilene from 9. Birley and Daisy from 10. This is our cue to return back to camp, because it's a long trek back the way we came. I can almost feel waves of anger shooting through my skull from Cato, who forced me to lead the way back. He said it was because I pissed him off for leading us in the wrong way, but I know he was just lost and wanted someone to lead him back to camp. And someone to blame if we got lost.

Darwin is awake when we return, Rue fast asleep right next to him. The stars show no sign of imminent concealment, and Cato forces me to take watch so everyone can get a few hours of sleep before it's truly morning. He wanted to find the invisible girl but I couldn't give him that.

Sleep falls over our camp minutes later, a contrast to my restless mind. I recognize the sound of a parachuted sponsor gift before it lands in front of me. I realize that survival instincts are prevalent now, and overtake my normal thoughts, because before wondering what I've been given, I first label the parachute as a sling for a broken arm and the metal casing a last-resort weapon. My hand reaches over and dangles the small gift in the air by the parachute as I unfasten the clip holding it together. Inside is a small compass with the emblem of a golden bird engraved in it. A mockingjay. It's no ordinary compass, though, as it isn't labeled with north. Instead, a simple K is engraved on the arrow, and I realize immediately that it's synched to Katniss' tracker. It's a Katniss compass. This is the single best gift Haymitch could have crafted for me, and it must have taken much lobbying for him to muster the funds. I read the note – _Leave the Career pack before tomorrow – _and whisper thank-you to Haymitch. I crumple the note and put it in my pocket. It must have been difficult to keep this sponsor gift ambiguous from the other mentors without seeming suspicious, so I make a mental note to guard this from the rest of the pack. The arrow points to the right up the mountain, which makes sense because Katniss would logically believe that I alerted the others when I saw her, since she thinks I'm out to get her, so she would have tracked down the mountain and swooped right again, since we'd expect her to run as far left as possible. Cunning.

My thoughts trail home while I sit in wait. I wonder if there are any cameras on me now, as I sit here amidst unknowing enemies. Gale surely knows I'm plotting against the Careers and leading them away from the girl I promised to help them find. If only I were no longer in this place, and instead in the forest at home, where my life is not jeopardized by armed children, but by extreme poverty. I would take suffering in 12 over the Hunger Games any day. The threat of death exists in both cases, but at least in 12 I had Gale. He was really the only person whom I could rely on for survival, something I cannot say about my parents. And to think, I left him with the duty of providing for them as well.

The day's first cold breaths color my cheeks, and small clouds of my own exhalations form around me only to quickly dissipate above. Sleep exists across the entire arena, silence used as a defense. The sky is dim and the air around us still dark, but the horizon is seeing its first traces of light. Moisture hangs in the air and forms dewdrops on the grass, and if it weren't for the waterproof sleeping bag and clothing I'm wearing, I'd be chilled to the bone. A crow in the distance calls out, an obvious creation of the Gamemakers to signal me to wake everyone up. I first advance to Clove, the closest to me, and slide the dagger from her palm before rousing her.

This time, Cato is not awake before Clove. I think that's the reason for her amiable delirium. Her movements are slight and delicate, and she whispers nonsense, clearly still half-asleep. I'm tempted to leave her be, but we have to continue "searching" for Katniss. "Clove, wake up," I say a little bit more sternly, and gently brush hair off her face. Her eyes flash open, but traces of sweetness I wasn't expecting still paint her face. She blinks slowly and drowsily, subconsciously searching the ground for her knife. She says good morning to me much more sweetly than I'm used to from her, but I hide my confusion and express the same to her. When I go wake the others, I make note to wake Cato last, which is when Clove's demeanor returns to her usual bitter, sarcastic self. Strange.

"Loverboy," Cato growls. My gaze flits over to him quickly, to his jaded, dark features. "You better find that bitch today or you're never going to hear the end of it. Now make some breakfast."

My face twitches slightly, a habit I somehow developed when encountering annoyances, rudeness, or stupidity. Cato's orders fall under all of the above. And his somewhat empty threat shocks me – there must be more to it, but he doesn't want to scare me off. Haymitch was right; I have to leave by the end of the day.

All of a sudden, my thoughts are interrupted when Glimmer shrieks, pointing to smoke billowing over the forest in the exact direction the compass pointed to. My senses are alert for cannons, and my palms immediately turn clammy, praying to anything that Katniss can get away from the fire. Before I can react, Cato's throwing my bow and arrows at me, pulling me by the arm toward the fire. He remarks to Orabel, "It might not be her, but there's some tribute there, right?"

Orabel whines. "If it's not her, it's Loverboy's fault. When are we gonna find her?" Cato just glares at me. Oh, it's her, alright, and I have a Katniss compass to prove it.

I'm panicking. I've thought of nothing to do yet, and I have no control over where they go – they don't need anyone to lead them to a fire. I'm lagging behind, physically unable to keep up with them, no matter how desperately I need to keep them from getting to her. It's a paradox in my head – the more I want and need and thirst to find her before them, the further the Careers can distance themselves from me with their trained speed and agility. A second wind hits, and before I know I'm pushing further towards them, sprinting to catch up. I'm just feet behind them when Marvel stops in his tracks on a cliff overhang near a river, screaming, "There she is! Guys! It's her!" A sick feeling invades my stomach and my heart drops to the floor, but I continue sprinting after them.

She's in the stream. With her backpack and all her clothes on. That's what confuses me.

And then… she would only be in the river like that if she needed to get into the water immediately. She would need to get there quick to hide from something – like a fire. Or, the water was intended to heal something the fire caused – a burn. Something inside me feels a searing pain, worse than any fire could cause, I'm sure. Why are the Gamemakers doing this to her? She wouldn't have started a fire she couldn't control, and by the looks of it, not much was damaged by the fire. It was fabricated. They deliberately tried to kill her with their fire, and when she escaped it, she went to the river to heal the burns. Coincidentally, this led her to us.

It's not a coincidence.

Katniss is struggling, paddling furiously to the edge of the river, and she bolts away as soon as she reaches it. _Climb! Climb! _My mind screams. She can't outrun them – they're even faster than me. She finds a large tree with sturdy branches to climb and scrabbles her way upward, 20 feet in the air before the pack even reaches the tree. They're chanting and howling, ecstatic to have found the girl on fire. I am powerless again; there's nothing I can do to make them stop without making the whole group point the finger at me, which wouldn't help Katniss and I, either. If her protector is gone, she's worse off than before, right?

Cato begins climbing up to reach her. Up. Up. Up. He's moving too quickly. _Please, don't. Stop._ My mind pleads, even though I know it's futile. Suddenly a blessing occurs: Cato grabs onto a dead branch, and it snaps, unable to hold his weight. He plummets to the ground and gets up seconds later, embarrassed. Glimmer reaches for an arrow from her quiver and sends two arrows toward Katniss, but she is stealthy enough to dodge them. My heart is racing, but there is nothing I can do without making this situation even worse.

Katniss yells down at us, "Maybe you should throw the sword!" The Careers look around at each other, perturbed by her evident mockery, but still considering the option. That, of course, would enable her with a weapon if they missed, so it's not a good option.

Finally, an epiphany appears out of nowhere. A way to stall so I can think of something else to do. "Why don't we just wait her out? She's got to come down sometime – it's either that or starve."

Dammit. Why do I keep screwing up? The look on her face is one of total betrayal. We were once a united force, two kids who, if nothing else, understood each other and wanted the same things. Now that's all changed, because she thinks I set her up to be killed for my own gain.

I can't do anything, because Cato and the others reluctantly agree and move around to build camp underneath Katniss. Now if I even try to communicate with her some way, they'll all figure out my plans. Instead, I send an apologetic and begging glance up to her, and she glares at me harshly in return. _I'm sorry. I'm so sorry._


	14. Count Down from 10

**Hiiiiii. This chapter is all edited with my evident and very stupid mistakes. Although I'm somewhat belligerent at the moment so I probably haven't replaced it with quality writing, but maybe in the very least this presents you with some semblance of a restored alternate universe that I created.**

Stinging, blinding pain courses throughout my veins. I am on my feet before I'm awake; my eyes are open before I'm done dreaming. I come to my senses instantaneously to realize that Cato, Clove, Marvel, Glimmer, Dorian, and Orabel are sprinting away from our campsite, and I am on my feet sprinting even faster than them before I'm completely aware. I vaguely wonder how I can run fast enough to pass them all before pushing away those thoughts to focus on the pain coming from my ear. I reach up to touch it, feeling a sore and a tracker jacker stinger embedded in it. I pull it out without even wincing. Katniss is in the tree climbing down, but I don't pause to look back at her when she slips and falls from the tree.

All of us ignore the pain that sings inside of us and the buzzing swarms of tracker jackers promising death, but a blood-curdling scream resonates through the trees, and I can't ignore that. It's not Katniss, but that doesn't keep my heart from stopping. Someone, somewhere is in pain, suffering, and I can't ignore that. Something pulls me toward the screams, not another person or my own pumping legs, but my conscience. I turn from the Careers, searching for the source of the screams.

_Zap. _A needle of stinging pain cascades from my shoulder down my arm, numbing it for an instant before intense jolts of pain pulse repeatedly. I glance down and rip the stinger from my flesh. Glimmer lies on the ground in a heap, a swarm of tracker jackers precariously clouded over her. Without a moment's thought, I grab the branch Katniss cut down and swing it over Glimmer's body, through the cloud of muttations. I sweep the branch through the air over and over, and time slows as the swarm dissipates and starts toward me. I react quickly, flinging the branch away, and dive to the ground.

_Zap._ I ignore the pain of the sting this time, pausing only to pull the stinger from my side, and haul my body up off the ground once the tracker jackers have flown away. With practiced ease, I pull Glimmer up and heave her over my left shoulder. Memories of carrying a dead deer over my shoulders edge into my thoughts. Suddenly, the forest is District 12, with Capitol citizens dressed in ostentatious clothing stalking around the coal-covered town. There is no longer a person on my shoulder, but an animal's carcass. I stumble to the side, and push away the hallucination. I breathe in deeply and close my eyes, trying to control my actions. If I believe I can control the hallucinations, I will be able to. I take a step forward, open my eyes, and begin to sprint away. I don't have a plan and I don't know where I'm going but I'll be damned if I'm going to stand by while another innocent tribute dies. Glimmer is tall, with mile-long legs and ample muscle, so I'd place her at around 120 pounds, but her weight feels nonexistent with adrenaline surging through my body. I sprint away from the tree we forced Katniss into, looking for some semblance of a hovel to put her down. A cave-like structure looms into view about 100 yards away, and I make it my goal to get there before I collapse.

My body is crumbling with the effort of carrying another person, but I do not stop. Each stride is labored and purposeful, and each thought hinges on going just a little bit further, trying just a little bit harder, running just a little bit faster.

I arrive at the mouth of the cave and hesitate momentarily, but decide to risk there being another tribute or some kind of animal inside. I collapse inside the cave, deposit Glimmer on the floor, and promise my return. There is something else I must do.

I crawl back out of the cave, and think of my next mission. I run back the way I came, searching frantically for Katniss. I hear screaming everywhere, then only one scream. Cato's booming voice sounds from far away, Orabel's distinct giggle fades into silence. My head swings to the right, the direction I am positive Katniss went. I am nearing the tree Katniss climbed to evade us, and although I haven't heard any cannons, something still seems off. My body sways as my thoughts morph into mirages. Katniss is just in front of me, her braid swinging over her shoulder as she smiles shyly at me. She is 10 feet away, looking at me with a scared expression, she is 50 yards away, kneeling and gripping a tree for support, swaying back and forth much the same way I am. I force myself out of my hallucination again, smacking my own face to rouse myself from the haze.

Katniss is still there, lingering at the tree. She is not a mirage. I don't need to think when I pull my quiver of arrows off my body and throw them behind a tree with my bow to stop them from slowing me down as a I run frantically towards her, checking over my shoulder for the Careers. Cato is out there, I can hear his voice, and I sprint even faster to Katniss. She looks into my face, dazed and confused.

"What are you still doing here?" I hiss at her, shaking her by the shoulders. "Are you mad?" I yell into her face, urgency covering my face and coating my voice, trying to bring her out of her hallucination. It's not working. "Get up! Get up!" I scream, pulling her from underneath her arms to stand her up. I look back over my shoulder, sure that Cato will burst out of the trees any second now. "Run! Run!" I shove her forward and she lurches to the side, grabbing the tree again. Panting noises from the back of her throat escape her mouth as she runs away without looking back stumbling every so often, and I am thankful she can at least do that. I watch as she keeps running into the forest, now hidden behind endless trees, and run back to retrieve my bow and arrows.

My head is still pounding, tracker jacker venom taking effect. I stumble again as a flash-bulb memory of training alongside Cato appears in my mind, but I push it away and force myself to stay awake. I turn to the distinct boom of Cato's voice, and realize he is just coming out of a strip of trees, running towards me at full speed. This is not a hallucination.

"Peeta, where the fuck is Katniss? Did you see her? Did you get her?" he screams.

I stumble over my words, which only makes Cato angrier and more urgent.

"Where is she, Peeta? If you don't find that bitch right now, I swear I will kill you," he threatens angrily, drawing his sword from his sheath. My spine snaps to attention, and an immediate defense response registers. I can't lead him anymore; I don't have a clear enough idea of where Katniss is to know where not to bring him.

I can only form one clear thought, and that is protecting Katniss.

Without a moment's hesitation, I reach behind my head to the quiver of arrows on my back, but feel only the jacket. I left my bow and arrows next to the tree, too far away to get before Cato attacks me. Shocked realization slowly covers my face, and a demonic smile spreads over Cato's features.

I forget about the bow and arrows and instead draw my own sword, silently rejoicing at my idea to bring extra weapons. I also put a small knife into my pants pocket. I approach Cato slowly, glaring into his menacing visage. Our swords are extended, ready to fight, and I silently mull over my chances at winning a sword fight against a Career specially trained in sword fighting. I ignore these thoughts and instead begin to battle, clashing my sword against his, hoping that he will make a sudden mistake under pressure, giving me a chance to wound him. I realize that I will do no damage if I take every opportunity available to jab at him, so I advance towards him, waiting for the proper time to strike. I spent a long time in training before the Games doing sword fighting, so I'm holding up fairly well, only retaining small flesh wounds as Cato lunges at every chance.

Suddenly Cato jumps forward, landing a blow to my left leg, up high. I scream in pain, the blade sinking deep into my skin, but I know this is my chance. I twist my body away from his sword and slice my own through the air towards his stomach, certain that this move will win the battle. Cato pulls his sword back towards him, tucking it into his body to shield himself from my sword, and thrusts it away from him with such force that my arm flies back, clutching the weapon. My movements seem to slow as I lose my grip on the handle of the sword and it is flung yards away. I cannot get to the weapon before he kills me, so instead I lunge at him, mustering every ounce of my willpower to pounce on top of him. I grab his wrist and push his sword away from me as we topple to the ground. My weight pins him, and I bash his hand on the ground to get him to release the sword. He grunts as a cracking noise fills the air and he loses his grip on the sword, and I try to grab my knife from my pants while holding him down.

My leg is weak now, pain screaming and searing through my whole body, and Cato rolls on top of me, gaining the upper hand. He starts to reach towards the sword I forced from his grasp, but I twist my good leg out from under him and kick it away swiftly, only praying he doesn't have another weapon.

But of course, Cato doesn't need an actual weapon; he has his hands. His fingers slide around my neck, pushing down on my windpipe, and I squirm and kick, trying to get his weight off of me, but my leg is holding me back. I writhe in pain, suffering underneath this beast as he kills me. I expect to lose consciousness any time now, but then I realize Cato's flaw: his broken wrist keeps him from squeezing my throat hard enough to kill, but he doesn't know that. I can still breathe. I can hardly breathe, but I can still breathe.

I shut my eyes and count down from 10, waiting for the right moment to stop kicking. 10. 9. I turn and twist my head, trying to free myself from his grasp. 8. 7. I take a shallow breath so he doesn't notice I can still get air. 6. 5. I lift my body off the ground and fall again, unable to get him off of me. 4. 3. I wriggle from side to side, squeezing my eyes shut. 2. 1. I take another shallow breath, and all of a sudden, my body goes still as I hold my breath.

Cato stops squeezing my throat after a few seconds, lingering on top of my body to make sure I'm really dead. His weight lifts, and he steps over my body to grab his sword. He pauses, and I imagine he is looking around to make sure there are no other tributes around. Heavy footsteps take off into the woods, and I wait until I can't hear him anymore. I count down from 10 again to be sure, and then a wide smirk covers my face as I jump up from the ground, breathing heavily as I clutch my throat. As quickly as I can, I grab my sword, my bow, and my arrows, wincing at the deafening pain in my leg. I ignore the pain, knowing I have about 60 seconds before Cato realizes there was no cannon.

I sprint faster than I ever have away from the bloodied ground where the fight scene just unfolded and look for the cave I left Glimmer in. Pain is all I know right now, and I fight my body begging me to stop. I focus on each individual stride as I recognize the cave, and battle my weaknesses to get to that cave. This fight is more difficult than against Cato, because in this war I must fight against my own willpower. Everything inside of me tells me to stop and to collapse to the ground as my vision becomes blurred, but I keep running for the cave. Black spots dot the sky, and they look like bugs in one second, then black droplets in the next.

I finally reach the cave and give in to my body and the hallucinations. I fall into the small hovel, rolling over Glimmer, whose hair becomes strands of pasta and then worms. I land on my back next to her and I can form one clear thought before I black out.

_I hope I saved Katniss._


End file.
